


All the Downy Days

by kinaesthetic



Series: Take to the Skies [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Wingfic, also featuring silly interactions with the rest of the overwatch team, angela "mercy" ziegler is kind of an angel, featuring a very loving close knit and supportive bird fam, more like an odd bird, who would probably die for her if she wasn't so ready to let herself wither away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetic/pseuds/kinaesthetic
Summary: The wings are officially here to stay, so Angela has to deal with them as best she can.It's notalwayshard; they're fun, even if her team can be a pain in the butt sometimes.(Snapshots about the daily nuances of Angela's life with wings)





	1. Not On My Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunari/gifts), [budgiebum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/budgiebum/gifts).



> The solution to all your fluff needs- the fluffy wuffy baby sister to SFV, and whatever dark sequels I'll eventually write, is here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the right circumstances, even Angela's memory can fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was complaining to Lunari about my sliiiiiiight obsession with objects and where they go and the fact that Angela takes off her watch at the end of chapter 3 of SFV and then it's never seen again and that I've been worried about it ever since. Where the heck is Angela's watch? Kid you not, been thinking about it since April. *rolls eyes*  
> Well, Lunari's brilliant and figured out the perfect solution to this; I just put pen to paper....fingers to keyboard....whatever, I just wrote it down. So this is as much for Lunari as it is by Lunari. <3
> 
> -takes place between 17 and 18 of SFV when Angela's wings are still fairly small

Fareeha watches Angela rummage beneath their pillows and shake out the deep blue and orange comforter. From her position in her reading chair, she stifles a giggle as Angela tries to shove her upper body beneath the bed; her wings, half-grown and janky, flutter. She yelps as only one smoothly slides underneath the bed; the other hits the bed frame. Clearly not invested in fixing the temporary issue, the beam of her phone’s flashlight sweeps from side to side a few times then goes still. With a grunt and a yelp, the winged woman attempts to extract herself from the narrow space, failing as she pins her wing between herself and the bed frame.

“Need any help, Ange?” Fareeha slips a bookmark between the pages of her novel and gets to her feet. Her girlfriend stops struggling immediately as she crouches down next to her.

“I think I’m stuck.” The wing that’s half under the bed flaps weakly as if to demonstrate. “There’s just not a lot of room to push up and wiggle out.”

“I could drag you out?”

Angela’s laughter echoes in the small space. “Like a horror movie? Alright.”

Grasping her ankles, Fareeha takes care to pull her out with considerably less force than a B-list movie monster. Sneezing, Angela gets to her knees and turns off her phone’s flashlight. Once all the dust bunnies have dislodged from her nose, she rubs at her eyes and sighs.

Crouching once more, Fareeha tilts her head with interest.

“Clearly you haven’t found what you’re looking for,” she says, eyeing the dust floating in the air. Vacuuming would not go amiss, but many chores tend to go unfinished in the face of missions. The afternoon sun makes each dust mote painfully visible.

Angela pushes her hair back, wings flitting absently. She casts her gaze around the room once more.

“I already checked my room and the med bay, my office. Kitchen, Winston’s lab, entertainment room…” Angela grasps her left wrist with her other hand and frowns. “But I haven’t found my watch. It’s been missing for over a week...”

Fareeha’s gaze lands on the bedside table where a silver watch sits neglected. Before she can open her mouth, Angela shakes her head.

“Not that one. That’s my spare but I haven’t been wearing it. It’s…” She pauses, worrying her lip. “It’s the anniversary one.”

The Egyptian hums, thinking about the golden watch with pearlescent leather straps. “Well, when was the last time you saw it?”

Angela flushes, rubbing the back of her neck and avoiding Fareeha’s gaze. Of course, few other events can cause that reaction. She bites back a smile and focuses on the task at hand.

“So that was what? Nearly two weeks ago? You were wearing it when you got here; I remember seeing it when I was carrying you.” Fareeha stands and moves to the door, placing her feet precisely on the carpet. She trails her fingers over the door, mimicking closing it behind her. Angela watches her with interest as she walks out her own steps from that extraordinary night. Fareeha flops down on the bed with an ‘oof’ then turns to look at Angela, who’s still sitting on the floor.

“It’s on the hook under the towel rack on the back of the bathroom door.” She watches blonde eyebrows scrunch together. “You had it here, but it wasn’t in the shower.”

“I already checked-”

“You never put it on the sink counter when we’re fooling around, _ya_   _amar._ You always hang it up behind the towels so it doesn’t get in the way.” Fareeha grins wider, watching the consternation grow on the blonde’s face. “I always wondered if you noticed.”

“ _Liebling,_ we’ve talked about this. I don’t forget things...” Angela watches a soft smile grow on Fareeha’s face. She smoothes the comforter beneath her, rolling over to her side and watching Angela’s wings flutter absently.

“You might not forget per se, but I can be _very_ distracting.” Angela shoots to her feet, blushing furiously as her girlfriend dissolves into laughter.

“I will check to humor you, but I know-”

“I’m positive. And if it’s not...I’ll cook all your favorites for dinner this week!”

Angela pauses at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “And if it is there?”

Fareeha rolls to her back, sits up to look at her, and shrugs. “Then you’ve found your watch, that’s enough for me.”

“Dinner it is then,” says Angela smugly, marching onward to the bathroom. Fareeha rolls over to her other side and simply smiles.

Angela pokes her head in, flicking on the light switch to illuminate the small bathroom. She pushes the door open further with a foot and slips inside, wiggling her toes in the plush fibers of the carpet. She shuts the door behind her. Two soft towels- one blue, one orange- hang on the rack on the back of the door. Angela stares at the innocuous sight, nibbling her lip and expecting a slight twinge of familiarity. Upon feeling none, she reaches behind them for the hook. Her fingers graze the tip of the command hook and a smooth leather strap. She pulls back, eyes wide at the watch in her hand. It ticks quietly as she stares at it, processing both disappointment and confusion at once. Her only response is to sputter quietly. She lifts the towels to glare at the hook behind them. Still there just like the watch in her hand. No special dinners for her.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbles.

Thinking quickly, Angela hides the watch behind her and schools her face into a neutral expression. She takes a deep breath, preparing an argument about the technicalities of the wager. When she pulls the door open, it dies in her throat. Fareeha quirks an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her face. No longer in bed, she leans on the door jamb casually, forcing the shorter woman to look up.

“So?” asks Fareeha, drawing the single syllable out as she surveys Angela’s reddened expression. Sheepishly, she brings the watch out from behind her back. Her expression earns a huff of laughter from the woman before her, as if she knew Angela would consider disputing the discovery of the watch.

“Oddly enough, it was where you said it’d be.”

Fareeha grins wider. She holds her hand out for the watch; Angela holds out her left wrist for her to fasten it. Wings fluffing, she shuffles her feet a bit, shooting a sideways glance at the offending hook just behind the metal door.

“Ange, it’s not a magic trick.” Fareeha watches the frown on her girlfriend’s face grow into a full-blown pout. “Just because you don’t forget anything doesn’t mean you don’t get distracted.”

“You swear you didn’t put it there?”

“I swear I didn’t. Pretty sure you did while you were pulling my shorts off.” It’s Fareeha’s turn to blush. “Kind of hard to tell exactly when; I was a little distracted myself.”

Angela giggles, running her fingers over the buttons of the watch and the smooth face. “I suppose there were more important things to do at the time.”

Though Fareeha barely resists commenting on the innuendo as she bites her lip, she still shakes with laughter. Within seconds, they’ve both dissolved into helpless giggles. It’s a full minute before they regain their composure. Both women take a bit to breathe deeply, leaning against the wall and each other for support. Fareeha gestures to the watch.

“So, since you finally have your watch again, what time is it?”

Angela cracks a smile and glances at her wrist. “Nearly dinner time. I think I can manage one of your favorites at least.” She holds up a finger to stop the protests on Fareeha’s tongue and shrugs. “Don't. I ran all around the base looking for it without asking you first. We know each other so well; I should have thought to ask."

At the soft expression on her girlfriend's face, Fareeha can't help but smile. "Well, let's make something we both like. If it happens to be one of my favorites, I won't complain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -if you're interested in a cute Pharmercy AU by an equally-as-talented author who updates far more consistently than I, you should check out Lunari's Shoot From The Hip: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11478036 <3  
> -desperately trying not to make the birds as awkward as I am and failing miserably  
> 


	2. New Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela has gotten a bit better about her needs, but not by much. This tends to frustrate Satya to no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after chapter 20, before Winston's memo.  
> Content warning: brief mention of ABA/ Vishkar quiet hands-ing Satya's physical stims out of her :(  
> BZArcher suggested something about perching, which was what this was supposed to be about....but this got out of hand, so that will come later.

The Gibraltar heat barely subsides when the sun goes down, but Satya takes her sunset walks around the Watchpoint regardless. The silence of the base echoes in her ears, accented only by the crashing of waves in the distance. Her bare feet slap quietly on the concrete and metal floors as she traverses the perimeter. She flicks her braid over her shoulder, letting it swing freely behind her. At this time of the evening, most of the team has finished eating dinner and then will hang out together; she may join them when she is finished with her walk, but it’s more important to drink in the last of daylight.

She makes a habit of looking up these days, with the possibility of Angela always being perched about the Watchpoint. As she rounds the west side of the base, she’s not surprised to see her crouched on the air conditioning unit above the control room, facing the sun. Her wings are casually fanned out, soaking in the sunlight and warmth. Satya calls up to her before realizing it might startle the winged woman.

Angela, to her credit, doesn’t jump. She only folds her wings and looks down to Satya. A bright smile blooms on her face.

“Evening Satya!”

“Are you enjoying the sunset as well?” She smiles back, tilting her head up so her pleased expression is visible. Even from here, she can see the flustered puff to Angela’s wings and the furrow in her brow as she tries to keep her emotions under wraps.

“Yes, it is quite nice up here…” She trails off, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.

The young architect tilts her head to the side, picking apart the human and bird body language until she has a better picture of what’s going on. The pause between them is brief as Satya thinks about the best way to respond. Eventually she asks, “May I join you?”

“Of course!” The Indian woman nods and heads into the control room, making her way to the roof access stairwell. As she climbs, she thinks about how to breach the subject with her friend. When she reaches the roof, she finds that the other woman has moved to a unit that can comfortably seat both of them. Satya takes a seat on the warm metal.

“If you are embarassed, don't be. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be up high, Angela.”

“What? I know that. I don’t need to, it’s just...it’s a nice view from up here. You’d be up here all the time too if it were as easy to get up here.” Satya raises an eyebrow at her immediately defensive response and looks pointedly at the way Angela’s perched- knees drawn to her chest, wings poised perfectly behind her. Realizing she’s overspoken, the blonde huffs and turns away, not bothering to control her bristling. Rather than say anything else, Satya creates her usual tablet and works in silence, creating and scrapping designs as quickly as they come to mind. Angela grinds her teeth, hugging her knees tighter. The sun dips deeper below the horizon.

“I do...sort of... want to be up high…” She keeps her voice hushed. Her eyes are trained on her toes.

“You should not restrain yourself.” Satya hums softly. “It’s unhealthy. You’ll get stressed.”

“I’m more stressed being up here than I was on the ground.” Angela shoots back, tensing up once more.

 _‘She’s going to hate herself every once in awhile.’ Ah_ , Satya thinks and resists the urge to roll her eyes. _This is what Ana meant._ She saves her work to the Watchpoint cloud and deconstructs her tablet.

“You need to stop fighting whatever you’re feeling-”

“I don’t _need_ to be up high.” Angela insists. “I am _not_ a bird; I’m still human.”

“You are neither.”

“Hey-!”

“You’re a winged human. That means you have different needs. Stop treating yourself as if you are simply human. Stop hating yourself because you are something more. You are beginning to vex me.” Satya purses her lips and regards Angela’s chagrined expression. Her blunt honesty works wonders sometimes. In a single fluid motion, she rises and turns away from the sunset, excusing herself as she does so. She flounces down the three flights of stairs and exits the way she came.

She intends to finish her circuit around the base. Before Satya has been walking for two minutes, Angela lands clumsily in front of her, flaring her wings out for balance.

“I am so sorry, Satya. You’re absolutely right; I’m being petulant.”

Satya only raises an eyebrow once more. “You never fail to surprise me with how little you take your own advice. Your brain tends to know what is good for you. You shouldn’t feel bad for following its wills.”

Angela opens her mouth to argue, then stops. She squares her shoulders and exhales through her nose. “I am listening to myself.”

“Then stop hating yourself for listening.” Satya shrugs and turns on heel. It is simply far too late, she decides, to finish the circuit. “Pick your battles.”

It’s only a moment before Angela pads after her, trailing at her side. They’re halfway back to the living quarter entrance when the Swiss woman pipes up again.

“I apologize for vexing you, Satya. You’ve put up with me for this long. It’s a miracle as to how but I do appreciate it.”

 _How and why indeed…_ She casts a sideways glance at Angela, who returns the gaze from beneath her bangs.

“You are my friend.” She says softly. “And you clearly can only be trusted to take care of everyone else, not yourself.”

It should worry her that Angela doesn’t argue. Perhaps another day. For tonight, she’s embarrassed her enough. Satya’s irritation only reaches so far but sometimes Angela needs a rough shove. As they come to a stop outside the living quarter entrance, the architect turns to face the other woman.

“Have you ever seen me stim?”

Angela does not trust herself to speak so she shakes her head instead.

“You would not have. I rarely do so in front of anyone.” Satya keeps her voice measured and even as she continues. “I was taught it was chaotic and that my brain could be trained into order if I did not stim. That does not work; you cannot cure something that is not a problem. The brain knows what it wants. My brain knows that stimming helps me focus or calm down, but I was forced to ignore that at great cost to myself. So I do not let people see me stim.”

“That’s not your fault.” Angela whispers. The slight shift in gaze is the only indication that she’s heard; Satya continues.

“You should not keep your brain from doing what it must to survive. The physicality of your wings comes with other things that you must take care of as well. Otherwise, the pressure will build and it will find an unpleasant exit. Do not do to yourself what Vishkar did to me. I will not allow it.”

“Satya…”

“Angela.” She crosses her arms and glowers at her. “Do not.”

She swallows and nods firmly. “Okay, I promise. I won’t ignore it.”

“You are in control of yourself and your wings, Angela. They belong to you, not the other way around.” Satya huffs and yanks open the door, shooing the other woman ahead of her. “Act like it.”

She hears Angela start to speak several times as they walk down the corridor, passing the kitchens and living areas. She waits patiently, expecting another apology or worry, but the Swiss surprises her.

“Satya, you can stim around me if you want.”

Satya stops in her tracks, a surprised giggle falling from her lips before she can stop it. She covers her mouth in embarrassment but she can’t quite stop the blush in her cheeks. She finds it cute that Angela cares; Angela's earnest expression falls a bit at her laughter.

“I do not mean to tease, Angela. I stim, but you don’t see it is all. I found many ways to be myself while under Vishkar’s thumb. Though I do find it ironic that they gave me my most useful stim tool.” She flexes her prosthetic arm and smiles.

“But still, you can stim however you want around me. How you used to or how you learned to. I just want you to know that.”

She hums thoughtfully. They’ve reached her room, three doors from Angela and Fareeha’s. Before she can think too long, she blurts:

“I do enjoy the texture of your feathers.”

Angela freezes, her expression thoughtful.

“I could pet them for you whenever you'd like." She clears her throat, maintaining her calm composure. "I imagine it would benefit the both of us.”

Satya nervously watches Angela consider this, pleased to see that excitement wins over pride; she's learning. In the end, she smiles widely.

“I think that's a wonderful idea and I have the perfect way to make that work."

* * *

 

The next morning, Angela makes breakfast for herself, Satya and Fareeha. No matter how early she gets up, she never seems to beat Ana to breakfast; some things never change.

Fareeha shuffles in, a towel around her neck, hair still dripping slightly. Angela greets her with a kiss and a soft, "Morning, bluejay."

She responds with a gentle scratch on each wing. "You're so spoiled,  _habibti."_

"Hey, it doesn't mean you have to pet me, it just means you can!" She bumps her hip playfully as Fareeha takes her plate to the breakfast bar.

Satya enters the room soon after, already impeccably dressed in a brown skirt and lavender blouse. Her perfect makeup does not obscure the fact that she's terribly tired. As Fareeha and Angela look up, she tries and fails to stifle a huge yawn. 

"Good morning, Ibis," chirps Angela, giggling when Satya blinks tiredly until her brain catches up with the meaning of that.

"You're right; Ibis suits her perfectly."

The Indian woman widens her eyes at Fareeha, a light blush darkening her cheeks. 

"What? You're elegant and graceful! Ange didn't tell me what bird she gave you; she just told me that it fits." She stage whispers to Satya as Angela hands her a plate full of food. "It's better than bluejay; I'm a little jealous."

Angela turns on heel and shakes her spatula at her girlfriend. "Bluejays are beautiful birds with striking patterns and a command of the skies that most songbirds can only dream of!"

"Bluejays are indeed wonderful birds." Satya says quietly, accepting her food and taking a seat. There's a stool between her and Fareeha; Fareeha's on Angela's usual stool, so Satya can pet Angela with her organic hand, a fact that she picks up on immediately.

Once the Swiss woman finishes cooking, she takes a seat between the pair of them. Satya picks at her food, suddenly nervous. She sneaks a glance at Angela who smiles and stretches out her left wing ever so slowly.

Satya breathes in and raises her hand, resting it gently on the the upper coverts before running her finger pads through  the feathers there.  She can feel each feather's barbs, can feel them rising as Angela puffs up with delight. _If clouds were not made of water vapor,_ Satya thinks _, this is what they would feel like._ She settles into a gentle rhythm, all nervousness gone from her mind. With her other hand, she continues with breakfast. Fareeha pets Angela from the other side, alternating between long gentle strokes and scratches. It's not just Angela that's boosted into a state of bliss; the calm atmosphere brings a sense of contentment to them all. 

Unbeknownst to the three of them, Ana snaps a quick picture from the doorway of the kitchen. She shakes her head fondly at the sight of the three women before her before continuing on her way.

"Sweet fools."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two of nine  
> -before the implementation of the peregrine swallow/falcon system, Angela decided that certain people should be allowed to pet her wings without having to ask every time. So when she greets Fareeha with bluejay, that means she can pet her whenever she says that. SO Satya gets one too because they've certainly grown closer through this whole thing. Ibis it is!  
> I just want to point out that I'm writing these from the beach. I think my parents are gonna take my phone away lmao


	3. Ask Me Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela thinks crowd-sourced feedback could help her gain an understanding of her wings.  
> She is not _wrong_ per se, but it does not go the way she expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this was a bad idea but my brain wouldn't let it go  
> -pre Winston's memo  
> Content warning: curious people meaning well but accidentally prying a little bit to much :'(

“I've given it some thought and I've decided that everyone can ask questions about my wings,” Angela announces at the weekly staff meeting, shortly after she starts flying. “I’d rather you know more than not. I’m learning about them too. You might help me think of something I haven’t answered yet. The more I know, the sooner I can return to the field.”

The room nods solemnly. Though she hides her surprise from her face, Fareeha recovers quickly. Ever supportive, she pipes up and adds, “You can ask me too, if Ange isn’t around.”

Satya shoots Ana a wide-eyed look at this announcement, shocked at this development. The older sniper only shakes her head ever so slightly, as if to say “let them learn”.

She sits back in her chair and exhales slowly. To invite others, even friends, to question difference is to invite chaos. As much as she wants to ignore the events that are sure to unfold, she will not for the sake of her friends; she is sure that Ana will do the same for her daughters. Nonetheless, it is worrying. She flexes the joints of her prosthetic beneath the table and begins to plan for the worst case scenarios.

\- - -

“Jamison,” says Fareeha after the fourteenth comment she gets from her teammates regarding her and Angela and _the wings._ “I will set you on fire in a way you really don’t like.”

“Aw come on, it’s a serious concern,” he cackles softer, an attempt to be serious.

“You know very well that feathers burn.” Her deadpan tone doesn’t phase him.

“Do I know that? They’re not ordinary wings, they might have extraordinary feathers! But anyway, what I’m getting at is this: what’s she going to do on the battlefield? It doesn’t take a genius to use a rocket launcher, ya know. One hit and _kaboom_ , up in flames! She needs a flame retardant shield or summat! Maybe I could-”

“Okay, okay, she groans, shoving her hair away from her face as she stands up. “You have a fair point. We’ll keep it in mind!”

\- - -

Angela flies by Zenyatta one morning as he meditates. The omnic waves, effectively flagging her down. She lands nearby, the wind from her touch down rippling the loose pants of the monk. He hums for a moment before speaking.

“On behalf of Bastion, I would like you to consider this question. She would like to know: can you converse with Ganymede? I confess I did not think such things would be possible, but she reminded me that people once thought we omnics did not share a common language.”

Angela tilts her head curiously. On all accounts, the answer should be no.

“I will consider it. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll seek her and Ganymede out.” She takes off again, wondering about that all the while.

When Satya spots her later, she’s sitting curiously close to a flock of seagulls on the training field, staring intently at their beady yellow eyes.

\- - -

“Why is it always the backside and never the underside?” Hana pipes up one night during dinner. Fareeha immediately snatches her hand out of the wing she’s been absentmindedly scratching with one hand.

“Awkward position to scratch at,” responds Angela a little too quickly.

Hana doesn’t look convinced, but she drops the issue.

\- - -

“That’s adorable,” Jesse drawls as Ana recounts Angela’s initial outdoor flight fondly. Ana quirks an eyebrow at the cowboy then follows his gaze to Angela. She’s been quietly studying her food and phone this whole time, but her wings flutter behind her. “Ange, you know we can tell you’re listening, right?”

Her head snaps up to retort, but Ana raps her fork sharply over Jesse’s knuckles before she gets a chance to say anything. He gasps sharply, yanking his hand away from the table.

“Jesse McCree, that’s rude. Apologize.”

“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to be rude, Angela, sincerest apologies.” She mutters her acceptance but pins her wings tightly behind her for the rest of dinner. By the time dinner is finished, Ana can see her trembling with exhaustion; the constant tension is wearing her down.

Ana excuses herself shortly after Angela does her dishes and leaves. She chases her down, calling after her in the hallway until the younger woman stops walking.

“ _Yamaam,_  you cannot do that to yourself.” Ana steps in front of her, fretting. “If you think your wings fluttering a bit is the end of the world-”

“I understand, believe me, I know,” Angela murmurs, eyes squeezed shut in pain. “I cramped. Can’t open them at all.”

“You fool,” Ana huffs, gesturing the rest of the way down the hallway. “Let me massage that out. And then we can figure out a better way for you get over yourself.”

Angela grimaces but follows her to Fareeha’s room, wincing at every jostle of her wings.

\- - -

“Fareeha!” A gruff voice stops her in her tracks, clad in her flight suit after drills. She turns to smile at Torbjorn. The engineer’s dressed in his work overalls, wiping grime and sweat from his brow. It’s not unusual to find him in the armory after all.

“If Angela needs any help making any armor for her wings, let me know, will ya? I’m sure there’s something I can fit them with, keep her safe out there.”

Fareeha thanks him and bids him a good evening.

By the time she arrives back at her room, she’s broken out in a cold sweat at the thought of Angela spiraling through the air, broken and helpless. Angela’s tapping away at her tablet waiting for her on the bed. She takes one look at her and goes to her girlfriend’s side, signing: _What happened? Needs? Hug? Sleep? Shower? Food?_

Fareeha keens low in her throat, trying to not close her eyes because the image is so vivid. She doesn’t have signs for this; she forces herself to speak, dragging each word out.

“Please don’t go back ‘til you’re ready.” There. That’s enough words for now. She signs for a hug and gets a very tight one. Angela reaches up to smooth her hair down, shaken.

“I promise I won’t go back until I’m ready.”

\- - -

“Are they ticklish?” Lena asks quietly over coffee one morning. It’s just her and Angela sitting at the kitchen island. It’s far too early for anyone else to be awake. Judging by the circles under the Brit’s eyes, she’s just as tired as Angela is.

Angela thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. Lena tilts her head, thinking.

“Is it nice to fly?”

Angela nods enthusiastically into her coffee, a small smile blooming on her face and dimpling her cheeks. Lena can’t help but smile back.

“That’s good. I’m glad for that at least.”

“Me too.”

\- - -

“Have you learned anything?” Satya asks, shortly before the next weekly staff meeting. Fareeha pauses, shooting a glance at Angela, then at her mother.

“I don’t think this is what you had in mind when you asked that of the team,” Ana remarks quietly, taking in Angela’s crossed arms, pinned wings, and pinched expression.

“It’s not. I was thinking scientific questions, inquiries about things I hadn’t thought about. Not silly questions and rude questions and invasive questions-”

“Open curiosity often manifests in ways that we do not expect,” Satya interjects smoothly, glancing at the clock. They have time. “With such an open forum, an opportunity was taken a bit too far. Perhaps not with the intent to harm- these are still our friends and teammates- but nonetheless, they do not understand the gravity of the subject. To many of them, Angela’s wings are a temporary phenomenon and not permanent, as we know them to be. I think it is best to rescind the question period. You have had enough.”

“I can tell them that,” says Fareeha, sighing.

“You will not.” Satya flinches at her own sharp tone. “Angela and you have had enough this past week. Ana and I will deal with this.”

Fareeha frowns, glancing between Ana and Satya, then back at Angela who is positively drooping. She threads her fingers through Angela’s and squeezes.

“Thank you.” Fareeha relaxes visibly, getting to her feet and helping Angela too.

“There is no need for thanks. I will simply make them understand.” Satya smiles at the two of them, then gestures in the direction of the meeting room. “Shall we?”


	4. A Helping Hana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set between chapter 20 and 21 of SFV!

Flying across the sea with waterlogged wings? Not Angela's best idea to date.

Sometimes, the Mediterranean and the Atlantic kick up storms out of nowhere. To be fair, she shouldn’t have been that far out over the ocean in the first place, not without backup. That can't be helped now; Angela lands on the highest point of the Watchpoint, dripping wet and shivering. It’s not raining at the base currently, but it certainly will be soon. She can see the clouds she flew out of creeping over the horizon, lightning flashing.  She shakes her wings out as best as she can, but they’re burning with exhaustion. Angela pulls them in and heads down the roof-access stairwell, leaving a wet trail behind her.

Usually, Fareeha would get her a towel or four, but then, Fareeha usually would be flying with her. But the latest mission needed air support and with Angela's outlook on being the world’s first flying human considerably improved, Ana had gone as well. So, while technically still grounded, Angela’s free to fly as she wishes without supervision. The caveat to that being the HUD goggles she has, which usually warn her about storms and wind pattern changes, had to stay at base, lest Athena alert someone that she’d left.

Whereas the low-pressure system had been delightful to fly on the outskirts of, it quickly caught up to her. Angela’s simply content to not be at the bottom of the Mediterranean. However, there is still the issue of drying off enough to go to sleep. Which is her goal right now, for sure.

She tries to shake her wings again at the bottom of the stairwell, only to slump against the wall in defeat. Her muscles aren’t having it.

She does not like the idea of sleeping with her wings outstretched. After waking up like that, it takes an hour to shake out the pins and needles and feel somewhat normal, but it may be her only option. Fareeha, Satya, and Ana are all gone. Worst of all, it’s late, past 1 am if she’s estimated her flight time correctly.

Leaving puddles of water behind her, Angela heads to the laundry room and gathers a fresh pile of towels and an old blanket. It takes some maneuvering, but she gets the blanket wrapped around her wings, just barely enough to cover the feathers that are dripping the most. She gathers up the towels and almost falls asleep right there in the laundry room, but she forces herself back to her feet and continues back to the living quarters.

When Angela reaches Fareeha’s room, she can see the green glow of Hana’s “STREAMING” sign a few doors down, courtesy of the dim hallway.

It’s not unusual that Hana would be up this late. The international gaming star often sacrifices sleep for her fans, especially if there are no missions for her. Angela tilts her head. Ever since her big reveal a few weeks ago, Hana’s been suspiciously quiet, taking care to not be in a room too long with her. Not that she worried; she and Hana were not particularly close, but she wonders if the teenager will do her a favor. She’s too tired to think this through; she’s cold, wet, and not willing to sleep outstretched on towels if she doesn’t have to. She shuffles over to Hana’s door and rings the doorbell. The voice channel opens a moment later.

“Uh, hey Mercy, I’m kinda busy but what’s up?”

“Han- er D.Va, I’m terribly sorry to bother. I was wondering...um, I need a favor?”

“It’s like 2am? Jeez louise fine, come in, just let me finish this game, okay?” Angela doesn’t get a chance to answer as the door swings open revealing Hana laying on a video chair, jamming her fingers at a controller. It looks like a shooting game, unsurprisingly. Her gaming rig is impressively pink and well lit, Angela notes, whereas the rest of the room is dark and silent, save for Hana’s shrieks and grunts. Angela waits patiently, letting her blanket fall to the carpet and catch the dripping rainwater. 

In another five minutes, D.Va signs off to her fans with a flourish, removes her headset, and turns around to regard Angela.

“Jeez, Angie, you look like death!” Hana gets to her feet and approaches the tired woman huddled in the corner of her room. “What the hell did you do?”

Angela’s already too tired and embarrassed to elaborate, blush bringing some much-needed warmth to her face. “I got caught in a storm.”

Hana squints at her, then at her window where it’s clearly not raining, then back at her with a grin. “Ooh, I didn’t realize you were so rebellious!”

Angela just sighs. Even if she finds out, Ana can't punish her, not really. Fareeha might not chastise for going alone, but she would rather not be ratted out.

Seeing her face fall, Hana backtracks: “Hey, sorry, I’m just joking. I won’t tell. Um, what was the favor?” Hana rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, still keyed up from streaming.

The reality of what she’s about to ask wakes her back up. She hugs the towels closer to her and tries not to shiver. “Can you help me dry my wings off?”

The teen stops rocking. Angela swears she can see her brain short out briefly behind her eyes.

“Um sure, I don’t mind. Do you want to borrow some pajamas or something first though?”

She wants to die there on the spot. She’s been so focused on her wings that she forgot her wet clothes.

“No, I’ll get my own. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Yeah, okay just, come back when you’re ready. Um, I’ll keep the door open?”

“Of course, thank you.”

Angela scurries back down the hall to her own room then peels out of her clothes and freshens up before putting on new ones. She tugs on sweatpants, warm socks, and a thermal top that immediately gets soaked through by her wings. There's nothing she can do about the issue at the moment. It'll have to dry later. Resigned but a little more comfortable, she trudges back to Hana’s room.

With her gaming station powered down, Hana’s zipping around like a pixie, cleaning up the food wrappers and soda cans from her stream, tossing dirty clothes into a basket and fixing her bed. She's surprised at how fast she shed her D.Va personality: no pink whiskers, no bunny icons, no hair band, no jumpsuit. Just a sleepy nineteen-year-old with her messy brown hair in a bun and pajamas: Hana Song. She drags the blanket Angela left on the floor to an open spot under the window and puts her video chair on top of it. She looks up when Angela knocks on the door frame. 

"Hey, you look warmer already!”

With a tired smile, Angela closes the door behind her. “Thank you, Hana. I’m sorry to have interrupted your stream for this.”

Hana doesn’t look up again but she shrugs. “It’s cool. It was getting late anyway. ‘Sides, you must be pretty desperate to come to me!”

Angela carries the towels over the video chair and tries to figure out how to answer that. She isn't wrong, but it's not that Hana is a bad option.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Angela’s a little more awake now, worried that Hana resents her for the intrusion; perhaps this was a bad idea on her part.

“Yeah, Angie! Sit, it’s fine. I forgot the bird fam’s not here. I get it.” She makes a 'gimme' motion; Angela hands her the towels.

She straddles the video chair as Hana indicated, and folds her arms on the back. It's weird to have her back to someone who isn't Fareeha, Ana, or Satya. She breathes deeply, forcing herself to relax. She nearly puts her head down, but then she realizes what Hana’s said. She glances over her shoulder and sure enough, Hana’s turning bright red.

“Bird...fam?”

“Yes?” Hana squeaks, suddenly very interested in the towels in her arms. “It's not bad! Everyone’s got at least one fam on the team. You and Fareeha and Ana and Satya are the Bird Fam. Ana, Jack, and Rein are the Old Fam, me and Lucio are the International Superstar Fam, and on like that. That’s all, I swear.”

“Like cliques?”

“Maybe a teeny bit like cliques. It's silly. Here's a better idea: forget I mentioned it and tell me how to dry your wings?”

Angela rests her chin on her forearms and hums. “Just rub the towel from top to bottom until they’re damp. They don’t need to be completely dry, just enough that they don’t clump when I sleep. I can work at the underside from here.” 

Hana hands her a towel, then drags over her Pachimari foot stool, gets comfortable, and starts rubbing down Angela’s coverts at the base of her wing. Angela sighs, letting her right wing stretch out a little bit as Hana moves toward the edge. It doesn't take as long for her to wipe down the inside of her wings, so she watches the storm approach through Hana’s window, her eyelids drooping. Soon she can barely keep them open. She’s struck by the idea that falling asleep in Hana’s room, on top of all of this, would be positively mortifying. Hana’s humming, but she stops when Angela clears her throat to make conversation.

“I would have let you pet them if you’d asked again.”

To her credit, Hana only pauses half a second before continuing to dry the wings before her. “I mean, I'm sure you would've. But I didn’t think about it when I asked. I should know better; it gets annoying when people fawn over you, especially when you're the first at something.”

“It didn't bother me. I suppose I’ve been used to people asking personal questions often for so long.”

Hana lets out a bitter peal of laughter- like a wind chime in a hurricane. “Oh boy, sure, I bet! International Gamer and War prodigy, D.Va! Have you nearly died while streaming before? D.Va, how many omnics do you kill on average during a stream? D.Va, how can you stay so happy? D.Va, did you ever finish high school?”

Angela remembers being young and interesting, the star of every interview. Two can play this game.

“So, Dr. Ziegler, how do you handle losing patients at such a young age? Have you ever wondered what your parents would think of you now? Angela, how can you work in a war zone if you’re a pacifist? Hey Dr. Ziegler, would you ever refuse to operate on a murderer?”

“D.Va, what do you parents think of you being a war hero?”

“Mercy, how can you support Overwatch?”

“D.Va, why do you glorify war through your streams?”

“Mercy, how can you justify reviving the dead?”

“D.Va. do you consider yourself military propaganda?”

“Mercy, how much of your ego feeds into your penchant for defying God's will and your inability to let people die in peace?”

Hana barks out a laugh at that and Angela starts giggling too. “Did someone actually say that?”

“Yup, I think I was already twenty-something by then though, so I guess it doesn’t really count.”

“Nah, you get it though." Hana's voice softens. "I forgot you joined Overwatch at what? Eighteen?”

“Yes, but just barely. I was a surgeon at a regular hospital for a while before that. Doing field work too.”

“ Just because you're young doesn't mean you're a child. I bet they babied you. I hate that.”

“Sometimes,” Angela says carefully, watching the first drops of rain hit the window pane. “Other times, people treated me like I was already twenty-five. And that was not quite true. So I mind your curiosity least of all, Hana. At least the world's still exciting for you in some ways.”

Hana hums softly, finishing the right wing and starting again from the coverts. “People ask shitty questions when they think you’re special. I didn’t want to bug you again. Plus, Fareeha had a point. They’re a part of you; I wouldn’t pet your arms.”

“I’m not bugged by it. Fareeha was a little defensive, though understandably so.”

Hana shrugs, jostling the towel in her hand and pushing the feathers up on accident. Angela makes a small noise of irritation in the back of her throat; Hana quickly smoothes the patch down again with the towel.

“Not bugged by the questions or the petting?”

“Both are fine. Particularly the petting. The funny thing is,” Angela says as nonchalantly as she can manage, “they're more sensitive to skin hunger than is typical. So it's like needing a hug, but every few days.”

“Angie, Bird Fam’s been gone...have you gone the past two weeks without anyone petting you?” Hana holds back an ungainly snort, but just barely.

“I’m trying to tell you that you can pet my wings.” Angela huffs out a laugh when she hears Hana sputtering behind her. “Honestly I would prefer it. I love them, but they are a little needy.”

Hana gulps and puts down the towel. Her voice comes out in a squeak “Just pet them?”

“Just like when you pet someone’s hair.”

With minimal hesitation, the gamer sinks her fingers into down the coverts of her right wing. The feathers are still a bit damp but it doesn’t really bother her. The platinum feathers part under her gentle touch, warmed by the heat of the muscles underneath. Angela’s reaction makes her laugh though. The winged woman _slumps_ , immediately boneless, tension seeping out of her shoulders. Hana giggles and uses both her hands to knead the powerful muscles beneath the feathers, finding knot after knot to smooth out.

“I used to take a massage class in high school, you know? Easy P.E. credit and all.”

“Don’t tell me that.” Angela quips happily. “I’ll never leave you alone.”

Hana just laughs and take a few more minutes to massage the right wing before continuing to dry the left one off. From her seat on the video chair, Angela tries not fall asleep. Thunder booms outside.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” answers Angela, then immediately groans. “I’m so sleepy, ignore that. Yes, of course.”

Hana chuckles. “Why were you flying in that storm?”

“Oh. It’s easier to fly in low-pressure systems, easier to go higher. I didn’t mean to get in the storm; I was on the outskirts, diving, flipping, looping. It's easier to practice evasive maneuvers when there's less resistance.”

“But at midnight?”

“Pot calling kettle much? I couldn’t sleep. Anyway, if you could fly, would you bother sleeping?”

"I guess not," Hana can't help but glance over her shoulder at her gaming setup. "Sometimes it's easier to be awake than to force sleep."

"Precisely." She flicks her right wing in Hana's direction, smiling when it startles a laugh out of her. "I thought you'd understand."

Hana scoffs, but doesn’t argue any further. She finishes drying the left wing and begins to softly pet and massage it. Angela sighs blissfully, trying to keep her eyes open. All too soon, Hana’s finished smoothing the knots out of her muscles and straightening her feathers.

“Did you get to dry the undersides?” Hana grabs an extra towel, prepared to finish the job.

“Yes. Plus I'll sleep on my back and they’re not as wet...thank you so much, Hana, truly.” Angela pulls her wings in gingerly and tries to get up, but her limbs aren’t cooperating. “Oh goodness, I feel like jelly. Give me a moment. Can I make you breakfast tomorrow, at least, for your troubles?”

Gathering the wet towels and dumping them into her hamper, Hana laughs. “That sounds nice actually. Better than cereal for sure!”

“Spoken like a true teenager,” says Angela with a tired laugh. “Please don’t let me fall asleep here. Can you shoo me out in five?”

“Sure thing, Angie.” says Hana with a soft smile. “Sure thing.”

* * *

When she wakes up in Fareeha’s room later that morning, clinging to an oversized pillow with her wings comfortably sprawled behind her, there’s a sticky note clutched in her hand: a small doodle of D.Va and Mercy with Hana’s spindly handwriting below:

_Child Prodigy Fam 4 Life! <3 Hana 하나_


	5. Team Carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela asks Lena for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff ahoy!

“Lena, would you like to help me with something?”

From her spot leaning against the kitchen counter, Lena looks up from her coffee with a grin. “Peregrine?”

“...swallow…” The British woman heads over dutifully and strokes her wings from top to bottom twice. Angela sighs in bliss before she retreats to sip at her coffee again. Lena smiles, tapping her bare foot on the inside of her other ankle.

“That’s not what you wanted to ask, is it?”

“Not quite,” the doctor says, smiling. “But I appreciate it nonetheless. How would you like for me to take you flying?”

* * *

 

Lena does not quite know what she expected from an offer such as this. She’s a pilot. Not only that but she’s a damn good one, trusted enough to fly experimental tech. She’s spent enough time in Winston's lab and in-flight class to understand more than enough physics to know that this is not going to work.

“Angie, I may be one of the lightest, but I’m starting to think this isn’t a good idea.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, enjoying the feel of the thick foam mats beneath her. She’s wearing leggings and a tank in addition to her accelerator, but she’s never felt more awkward than right now, stretching her arms and legs, getting ready to be picked up. She watches Angela stretch and pace and consult her tablet. Finally, she puts down the device and comes over to Lena.

“May I bridal carry you? I think that would be the best course of action.”

“Yes, but Angie?” Lena puts her hands on her hips and purses her lips until Angela looks up at her. “This doesn’t have to work.”

“Wha-”

“Seriously, if this goes to shite or you pull somethin’, stop. It’s no biggie! We’ll call it a day and laugh about it. There’s nothing riding on this.” The Brit pauses, watching the gears turn in Angela’s head. She blinks twice, then twice again, before really seeing Lena in a clear light.

“But of course,” she says softly. “You’re right, Lena. This is just out of curiosity.”

“No stakes, whatsoever, you hear? Winston can carry everyone on this team.” She beams, pleased when Angela starts laughing.

“Except for perhaps Reinhardt!”

They chuckle at the mental image for a moment, before Angela turns them back to the task at hand.

With ease, Angela can lift Lena into a bridal carry from a standing position. The chronal accelerator makes it difficult to try much else, but they make several attempts at different arrangements. They draw the obvious conclusion; Angela’s well built to carry small people.

The next conclusion is that Angela’s wings are built to carry Angela and not very much else. She tries taking off with Lena in her arms, only to freeze as her wings strain immediately.

Angela grimaces, flapping until she rises a good few centimeters off the ground, then flops to the ground, landing on her passenger with an ‘oof’.

“Well then, that’s decidedly unsuccessful.” She clambers off of the brunette so they can both sit up. Her face is slick with sweat after only a few seconds of trying that stunt. Lena doesn't miss how her wings droop at her sides, trembling slightly. It's a few more seconds before she manages to pull them into a more relaxed position.

Lena throws her hands up in mock surrender and grins. “Chin up, it’s not like you don’t have anything else going for ya! There’s all sort of stuff you can do now. Well, I mean, in addition to all the other things that you could already do.”

Angela smiles but pins her wings back in distress. “Thank you, Lena. It’s good to have tested it at least.” She stands and helps her to her feet.

Unwilling to let it go so easily, Lena blurts, “How fast can you fly?”

“How fast can I-?” She tilts her head to the side, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve measured that yet.”

“I bet ya Winston has one of those speed guns that coppers use. We should find out, don’t you think? I bet you’re faster than most birds!” She tries not to let on how relieved she is to see Angela relax her wings and break into a bright smile.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to find out.”

Lena throws an arm around Angela’s shoulders, careful to avoid smacking her wings in the process. “I bet you’re faster than a peregrine. Ha, what if you’re a real peregrine swallow? That’d be something.”

As the gym door shuts behind them and Lena continues her babbling, Angela has all but forgotten about the disappointment of earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls eyes* *mccree voice* it's still midnight somewhere in the world- 7/9 fic blitz  
> it's because my dumbass brain does not understand the meaning of "drabble"  
> me, beating brain with a stick: this! is! not! too! short!!!


	6. Go to Sleep!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When neither Fareeha, Satya, or Ana are on base, Angela often finds it hard to stop working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -scenario modeled off of this comic with permission! http://sarcasticasides.tumblr.com/post/159882587291/go-to-sleep  
> -it's what i affectionally call the knife-cat genji comic  
> -alternatively, this draft was just called "GENJI YOU LITTLE SHIT"

Genji knocks on the med bay door, before remembering that the intercom button works as well. Before he can jab the button next to the door, Athena gently announces, “I have already alerted Dr. Ziegler of your presence, Genji. She will be out presently.”

“Thank you, Athena. Even now, I occasionally lapse into rudimentary practices.”

Through the window, he spots Angela exiting her office. He removes his faceplate so he can greet her properly, smiling widely as she opens the door.

“You’re back,” she says softly, wings drooping listlessly behind her. Her smile does not reach her tired eyes. He searches her face and finds no joy there, only deep circles underneath her eyes. “Come in. How did the mission go?”

The ninja twists his lips into a smile. “It went well. Ana wanted me to check in with you. However, it looks like I’m not the one who needs to be checked on.”

Angela blinks, her brain slowly catching up. She scoffs and turns to get his file from her office; her soft footfalls are barely audible as she crosses the tile.

“I’m perfectly fine, Genji.” He trails after her, not missing the way her wings drag behind her.

“Athena,” he calls out as he enters the office. “How long has it been since Angela slept?”

The medic rolls her eyes and unlocks Genji’s file cabinet, removing a thick folder. She grabs a clean med sheet off her desk and waits for Athena’s response.

“Good evening Genji.” The A.I. says pleasantly. “I am afraid I cannot authorize giving out that information.”

“Wonderful,” she shoots the man before her a triumphant smirk. “Athena, please scan Genji for recent nanite activity.”

As she notes healed injuries from the mission, Genji thinks carefully about his options.

“Athena, when were the last five times that someone keyed into the med bay?”

Angela looks up sharply, wings tense. She glares at the sensor above him; Athena’s blue lights flash from side to side as she considers the question.

“Angela Ziegler last keyed into the med bay today at 12:34pm, today at 1:13 am, yesterday at 5:48pm, yesterday at 11:39am, yesterday at 12:31am.”

Genji raises his eyebrows triumphantly. “Athena, when were the last five times someone locked the medbay from the outside?”

Athena doesn’t hesitate this time. “Angela Ziegler last externally secured the med bay today at 12:03pm, today at 12:54 am, yesterday at 5:22pm, yesterday at 11:15am, yesterday at 12:10am.”

Angela finishes her scribbling on the med sheet, shoves it in Genji’s folder and pushes it back into the cabinet. Crossing his arms, Genji continues with his line of questioning.

“Athena, that sounds like Angela has been in the med bay since at least yesterday around midnight and hasn’t left long enough to sleep properly in a bed at least 40 hours.”

“Athena, that is none of his business,” the medic hisses, trying to shoo Genji out of her office.

“Actually, Dr. Ziegler, Genji’s concern is warranted as you are his team member. Yes, Genji, you are correct.”

“Yes, Angela, we’re a team!” He sticks his tongue out as she flares out her wings in irritation. “Can’t have our best medic running on empty!”

“You are a _menace!_ ”

Genji backs out of her office, grinning. “Athena, can you page Captain Amari please? Tell her that Angela needs to be put to bed!”

“Athena, do not breathe a word of this to Ana, I swear-”

“Captain Amari has been notified. She’s on her way now.”

Genji laughs as Angela curses liberally in German, ending the tirade with, “I am _working._ ”

“You’ll feel better after you’ve slept! You can hate me now, but I promise, I mean well.” He bows slightly, and slips backward out the main door.

Furious, the doctor shuts and locks it behind her, slumping against it as her energy wanes once more. Sleep is not nearly as important as research. She’s been out of commission for far too long; she can’t afford to slack off.

There’s a tap on the window behind her and Angela startles to wakefulness, only half-surprised to find Ana at the window. She’s still dressed in her mission outfit, save for the rifle. When she opens the door, she taps the sleep pistol at her hip.

“I’m under the impression that I will need to use this on you. Am I wrong?”

Angela winces. “Let me just lock up my office.”

Ana walks her all the way to Fareeha’s room, then pauses at the door. “She’ll be back later tonight, Angela. You know this. She’ll be much happier if you’re not dead on your feet.”

The doctor nods silently and enters the room. After the harshness of the fluorescent lights of the med bay, she's grateful that the setting sun provides just enough light for her to peel out of her clothes and take a warm shower; she's careful to avoid getting her wings wet. Clean but now thoroughly exhausted, she lugs Fareeha’s giant bear to the bed and collapses with it, dead to the world.

She doesn’t dream.

When she wakes up the next day, Fareeha’s snuggled into her wings, snoring contentedly. It’s just past dawn.

Angela falls back asleep with a smile on her face. It’s worth sleeping in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five/nine  
> *finger guns*


	7. Re: Angela's Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winston sends out a memo to the Overwatch listserv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in the style of DpsMercy's The Rules of the Watchpoint: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10181591 which is hilarious! Thanks for the inspiration! <3

From: Winston@overwatch.net

To: active-agents-l@overwatch.net

Subject: Angela's Wings

Greetings,

By now, I am sure you are all aware of Angela's wings, since no one has talked about anything else for the past three weeks. I would like to remind you all of some etiquette and protocol regarding them. Most of this goes without saying, but if it's in this email, it's likely at least the second time it's been said. That being so, please take heed of the following:

  * Please do not reveal Angela’s wings to the public. If anyone asks, they’re a Valkyrie prototype, which is technically just as true as it is false.
  * While Angela's wings are very visible, this does not suddenly make it appropriate to inquire about their function in the bedroom. Before you decide to be foolish enough to ask either Angela or Fareeha about this, please consider how small we already are as a team and how your death would affect the team dynamic and international security over time.
  * While Angela has figured out that the shape of her wings resemble that of a swallow’s, the Monty Python jokes are not funny. She has enough things to worry about besides reverse-engineering their DNA to specify any other swallow than an African or European one to keep you from using them.
  * If you try to get around this by calling her an African’s or Egyptian’s swallow or a Swiss or European swallow, I cannot protect you from either Fareeha's or Angela’s wrath.
  * Angela enjoys being pet, yes, but she has a system. Please warn her before petting her wings by asking “peregrine?” and proceeding at her answering “swallow.” If she says “falcon” come back in an hour. If you try to circumvent this system, the answer will always be no.
  * It is cruel to do this without actually petting her just to see her get excited. Specifically, you are not allowed to yell "peregrine" from across the training room and take off running through the Watchpoint when Angela comes soaring after you because you dared to tease her. I cannot protect you; you deserve it.
  * Additionally, petting Angela before admitting to whatever terrible injury you’ve incurred on yourself (or others) will not reduce a scolding. In fact, it will have the opposite effect.
  * It’s cruel to point out when Angela’s wings can give away her thoughts. Avoid using this against her.
  * Angela is no longer allowed to sit in the rafters anywhere. Despite the fact that “no one ever looks up”, I have had several reports of her dropping down and scaring people. Gunshots in the wall aside, “no one will believe you” only works if you say it to one or two people, not nine.
  * Angela should not have to explain the physics of why she cannot take anyone flying like Fareeha does. Fareeha offers one-way flights to the Mediterranean to anyone who bothers either of them about it.
  * _There is no flight allowed indoors_. Please stop encouraging her.
  * Do not scold Satya for knowing an undue amount of information about Angela’s wings. Angela doesn’t mind it and if you can’t handle an info dump, please just tell her plainly. I cannot protect you from Angela’s wrath if you hurt Satya’s feelings.
  * While bird jokes are tolerated, Ana retains the sole right of using baby bird jokes against Angela. Trying to usurp this honor will likely result in a sleep dart to the gut.
  * Whoever left a gum wad near Angela’s favorite stool owes her three flight feathers. I am not sure how this will be paid, but Angela would like you to know that she will be exacting payment soon.
  * Angela will not change her callsign to Angel, Archangel, Overwatch’s Angel, Avenging Angel, Cherub, or anything else. Mercy stays. I cannot guarantee any other mercy if you insist otherwise.
  * Genji and Lena, stop encouraging Angela to race you around the base's perimeter. You’ve fallen off the cliff twice trying to take her aerial shortcuts. If it happens a third time, you will rescue yourselves.
  * The “What’s Fareeha’s favorite Pokemon type?” “Flying” joke was only funny once.
  * Angela will return to active duty when she is ready. Do not pester her. Do not ask if you can borrow the Caduceus Staff because you worry about Lucio, Ana, or Zenyatta being as effective. Angela will refuse to heal any injuries that result from this, either from her own wrath or theirs. Be kind to our medics, please.
  * Asking Angela if she and Ganymede can communicate now is just as silly as it is annoying. Angela, your refusal to give a straight answer doesn’t exactly help the situation.
  * Stop replacing regular descriptors with bird references when referring to Angela. She’s not having a bird bath, hunting for worms, or perching; she’s showering, cooking, or sitting. Don’t be ridiculous.
  * Don't be ridiculous. It needed to be said twice.



Cheers,

Winston B)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the petting permissions system because I'm proud of it: this is stacked in Angela's favor on purpose! If she's distracted, her natural answer is gonna be falcon because that's what usually comes after peregrine. If she's distracted or sleepy or just not paying attention, then she's probably going to jump or be fussy when touched and no one's going to be happy! Plus, if she's already in a bad mood, 'falcon' is still the natural response; takes less effort to say no. So basically, she has to be alert and paying attention to answer 'swallow' which then works out for everyone.


	8. Eager for Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela usually runs to go get the pizza when they order out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's suggested by Budgie <3

The jaunty jingle alerts everyone in the room, standing out from the dramatic music of the newscast they’re watching. Fareeha feels her girlfriend perk up, can see the notification for “Pizza Guy Hugo” on her phone. It’s not unusual for her to offer to go get the pizza, so she doesn’t protest as Angela sits up from her lap. It’s been quite a while since they’ve had a pizza night, even longer since the doctor could be peeled away from her work or her bed to join. Angela answers the phone and lets Hugo know “someone will be there in 5 minutes!”

Really, that should have tipped Fareeha off. The guard house at the outer gate is a good ten minutes away at a leisurely pace via the tunnel, maybe seven for someone to grab a golf cart and drive there. The Swiss woman hangs up, and swings her legs over the back of the couch, preparing to launch herself over it. She whacks Mei’s hair bun with a wing, so it makes sense that Mei realizes first.

“Angela, you can’t go get the pizza!”

Mei’s shouts are in vain; she vaults off the sofa and sprints out of the entertainment room, leaving the team behind.

Angela giggles, running to the hatch that leads to the tunnel, sliding halfway down the ladder, then jumping off. There’s a dicey moment where she skims a little too low to the tile, but the tunnel is wide enough for her to comfortably right herself and fly down the wide chrome corridor. Fortunately, the watchpoint was built with people like Winston and Reinhardt in mind.

Technically, she’s not supposed to fly indoors but the courier-use entrance to the watchpoint is so far away from the actual watch point. It’s faster to fly through the underground tunnels than it is to run. Besides, it will take long enough to walk back with the pizza. She can hear her stomach growling over the roar of the wind. Her hunger distracts her from all the dust and cobwebs she’s kicking up.

Before long, she arrives at the ladder to the guardhouse. It takes a moment to climb the ladder and throw open the hatch. The hole is a bit smaller than the one at the base, so she pins her wings tightly to her back and eases up the last way of the ladder. She's barely eased into the guardhouse when it hits her.

“ _Scheisse_ ,” she curses, freezing where she is. Hugo may be their regular pizza delivery guy, but he’s not ready to see her wings. Not only that but it’s still daytime; there’ll be no denying that her wings are real if they are plainly seen. Groaning, she rests her forehead on the tile floor, resisting the urge to smack herself. Mei did try to warn her.

Still balanced on the ladder, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and calls Fareeha.

The phone rings five times then goes to voicemail. She curses again, shoving her phone back into her pocket. Hugo’s car idles just outside of the guardhouse. Perhaps she could ask him to leave the pizza outside the door? Or call him and let him know they’ll be a little later, fly back to base, and grab one of the others? Her thoughts are interrupted by the telltale whine of an electric golf cart coming from the direction of the base. Within a minute, it’s screeched to a stop outside and none other than Fareeha comes in the base-side entrance and reaches through the window to exchange faintly accented Spanish and currency for several pizzas. Angela watches her wave as Hugo backs up and drives back down the mountain road.

Once he’s out of sight, Fareeha turns around and regards Angela with an amused expression. “Are you alright there?”

Blushing deeply with embarrassment, Angela wriggles the rest of the way out of the hatch. As she toes it closed and waits for the mechanism to lock in place, she mutters, “Clearly I was a little too hungry to think straight.”

The Egyptian leans over the drop a soft kiss on her forehead. “Clearly. Get the door for me?”

Angela obliges, holding the door open so she can carry the stack of pizzas to the golf cart. The guardhouse locks quietly behind them. Then she climbs into the back seat of the golf cart, wings hanging out as she leans over the seatbacks to hold onto the pizzas stacked in the passenger seat. While Fareeha starts the cart, Angela runs her fingers down the side, counting boxes.

“‘Reeha, I think Hugo gave us a couple of extras?”

Fareeha shakes her head and smiles. “Nope, he got what we ordered.”

“We only ordered five! My half red onion spinach, your half spinach and sausage, Lena and Mei’s anchovy and green pepper, Zarya’s meat supreme half with Jesse’s mushroom garlic half, Jack’s tomato and onion half with Genji’s mushroom and spinach, and Jamie and Mako’s green pepper and spinach!”

Angela pouts as her girlfriend laughs softly. “I got you two more red onion and spinach, you dork.”

They hit a bump and she yelps, wings fluttering. It takes a second for her to ensure that the pizzas are still secure. Then she processes what’s been said. “Just for  _me?_ ”

“You asked for half a pizza like that was going to be enough for you,” Fareeha says, rolling her eyes. “Ange, you can’t eat like that anymore. You’re going hurt yourself, especially when you go flying every four seconds.” Angela's pout returns in full force; the expression staying for a long moment as Fareeha continues to drive

“You’re absolutely right,” Angela sighs as they near the base proper. Apologetic, she nuzzles into Fareeha’s hair, who hums, barely audible over the golf cart's whining.

“Aren’t I always?”

“When it comes to me, yes.” As Fareeha parks, Angela opens a pizza box, pleased to find one of the red onion and spinach pizzas on top. “When it comes to other things, not so much.”

Fareeha makes a face as Angela wiggles a slice toward her. “Hey, I’ll eat it, I just don’t love it like _some_ people.”

Just as Fareeha opens to take a bite, Angela pulls it back. “I know, I know, more for me then! I have something better for you anyway.”

She leans in for a soft kiss which Fareeha gladly returns.

“We should probably bring the pizza to the others.”

“Probably,” Angela murmurs leaning over for another kiss. Fareeha huffs out a gentle laugh.

They manage to bring the pizza back before it gets cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of nine things I'll have posted by 8/3 at 11:59pm EST


	9. All Worn Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some point, Angela was going to push herself past her limits.  
> Fareeha only wishes it hadn't been so soon or so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HealthDrink suggested: "Oh! Angela's wings start to really hurt, which prevents her from flying and Fareeha pets them enough to make the pain go away? (Ending the fic with a little smooch would make this sap so happy :3)"
> 
> In this household, we love and enjoy wingpets of all types. :)

“Fareeha…”

Despite the constant drone of the fans, Angela’s insistent whispering wakes her from a solid sleep. Fareeha groans and lifts one arm to cover her face. Surely, she thinks, it isn’t morning yet. Sleepily, she tells her fiancée as much. There’s a beat of silence.

Seconds later, Angela swats at her, her fingertips just barely brushing her hair. “ _Fareeha._ Please, I need your help. _”_

She lifts her arm away from her face and rubs at her eyes with her palms. “Okay, I’m up. Turning on the lamp.” 

She reaches over to the bedside table; it take a few tries, but soon the chain is securely within her grasp. She yanks it, shutting her eyes as it brightens the room. More than happy to shield herself from the light, Fareeha rolls toward the center of the bed and gets a face full of feathers. She props herself up to see Angela over the outstretched wing.

“Ange, what happened?” In the light she can clearly see tear tracks on Angela’s pale cheek, the quiver in her lip as she bites it, the tenseness in her entire being as she struggles to hold herself together. In a flash, Fareeha’s hovering over her, careful not to lean on her wings.

“Sorry,” Angela gasps, fresh tears spilling from her eyes as she squeezes them shut. “I’m so sorry, I really did not want to wake you-”

“ _ Habibti,  _ there’s nothing to apologize for. What’s wrong?” She watches stricken as Angela draws in three deep shuddering breaths. From what she can tell, she’s not bleeding in any way obvious. Her limbs- all six of them- appear to be in tact.  When they went to bed several hours ago, the only thing wrong was their inability to cuddle- a necessary evil to survive the currently AC-less Watchpoint. Angela stretched out on her stomach; Fareeha splayed out on her back. They both clearly had woken up in the same manner, so Fareeha rules out the possibility of having rolled onto Angela during the night.

On her fourth inhale, the blonde finally manages to speak. “I think I overdid it yesterday. My wings are  _ screaming. _ ”

A small part of Fareeha wants to accept the simple solution of post workout soreness, but Angela’s contorted expression speaks volumes. She looks at her, splayed out across the two beds, wings half-folded to ensure constant air flow. Not a single twitch in sight, as if they were pinned to the bed by an invisible hand. Angela wipes her tears away as Fareeha tries to work out the situation in her head.

“We went flying for two hours yesterday…but we’ve been doing that every day. Is it the heat?” In an attempt to answer, Angela mumbles into the pillow, sniffling. Fareeha reaches out and gently strokes her hair. “Ange, I can’t hear you.”

“Went flying again after dinner for a few hours,” Angela mutters, turning her head back to side to be heard. 

“A few?” 

“Almost three and half hours. I shouldn’t have and I’m paying for it.”

Fareeha sighs, moving her hand down Angela’s pale neck and to her shoulder blades. She can feel the knots of tensions just under the surface, pressing lightly elicits a whimper. She pulls her hand back, wincing.

“ _ Angela!”  _ hisses Fareeha, already thinking of ways to relieve the muscle strain. She clambers off the bed and jogs over to the medicine cabinet. “Did you stretch at all before you went to sleep? You can’t do a cool down for a two-hour flight after flying for nearly four-? How many degrees do you have again? I’m going to get at least  _ one  _ of them revoked, since you clearly were never taught about muscle strains-“

“I was, I was! But I just wanted to keep flying. It was so nice. And then I was so tired, I didn’t want to stretch so long.” Frustrated with her posture, Angela tries to prop herself up but the awkward positioning of her stiff wings renders the effort useless. She flops back down and whines into her pillow. “Was stupid, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. Please make it stop.”

Fareeha returns with a small tub of icy-hot, scrambling over the bed until she’s kneeling at Angela’s waist once more.

“You’re not stupid. But is it bad I’ve been half expecting this to happen?” She winces, dialing down her teasing. “Not that I wanted to see you like this, but-“

“No, I understand. I overdo it. All the time.” She hisses as Fareeha applies the cool ointment to her skin, starting at the nape of her neck and working her way downward. “You can massage it in; I’m fine, I promise. Nothing can hurt worse than this and I definitely will not let it happen again.”

Fareeha shakes her head, hair swinging side to side. “I’ll do that once it starts working.” She spreads it across her shoulders and down to the base of the wings, careful to avoid the small feathers there. Angela hums in relief as the coolness begins to set in and Fareeha wipes the last of the ointment just above the waistband of Angela’s jumper. 

She flexes her fingers and takes deep breath, settling her thumbs just below the blonde’s hairline. At the first contact, she can feel Angela tense beneath her. She pushes back firmly until she relaxes again, singing softly. Angela hums along, recognizing the melodious Arabic from many sleepless nights. Fareeha works her way down and out, massaging in the pain-relieving ointment under her wings and around them. 

By the time she works her way down for the second time, Angela has stopped tensing at every touch. It takes a full thirty minutes before Fareeha’s satisfied with the muscles beneath her fingers. She leans back and breathes a sigh of relief.

However, the wings splayed out to either side still need attention. Fareeha climbs off the bed, cringing as Angela whines at the movement. She washes her hands in the sink, scrubbing every last smear of icy-hot off her fingers.  

When she climbs back onto the bed, Fareeha drops a soft kiss onto Angela’s cheek. Her eyelashes flutter as she wakes from a light slumber.

“Your wings still hurt.” A statement rather than a question. Angela nods regardless, her face slack with exhaustion. “I could massage out the knots, but I just… I wouldn't be able to keep it from hurting while I do it.”

Seeing the grimace on her fiancée’s face, Angela reaches over her shoulder and grasps Fareeha’s hand as tightly as she can, given the angle. “I know. You're helping me. You'd never hurt me, ‘Reeha. I know this. You know this too.” 

For several long moments, Fareeha only clasps the pale hand in both of her own and squeezes back. Angela watches her contorted expression and rubs her thumb over her trembling hands. Fareeha takes a few steadying breaths and casts her gaze to the lightening sky. Then she speaks up, a light returning to her eyes. “I do know, but I just thought of a better idea.”

Ten minutes later, Fareeha has dug through her closet to unearth her huge electric blanket and draped it across Angela' and her wings. She flips the setting to a heat of five, hot enough to increase the natural temperature of the wings. The she turns all the fans on high and flings open the windows, while Angela waits, her curiosity building.

After about twenty minutes, she lifts the blanket and pokes gingerly at a wing. Angela whines so she replaces the blanket and smooths down her blonde hair, singing softly again. Partly for Angela, partly for her own nerves, she sings on and off for another fifteen minutes before she checks again.

This time, Angela only sighs and Fareeha sets to work. Another half hour passes by with Fareeha's gentle kneading and singing. Not once does Angela complain, much to Fareeha's relief. She works her fingers between the warm feathers to get at the tense muscles underneath the skin, and once she finishes the right wing, Angela shakes it out and folds it close to her side. They repeat the process with the left wing. By the time Angela folds her left wing, the Gibraltar suns shines brightly through the open windows. Fareeha cracks her knuckles one last time and shoves the heavy electric blanket off the bed. Angela sits up, sweating profusely.

Fareeja shoots her a lopsided grin. “All better?”

“Much better, Fareeha.” She reaches out and embraces her tightly, stroking her dark hair and whispering reassurances in her ear. Fareeha clings to her, not caring how sweaty they both are.

“You know, Hana probably could have done this in half the time,” Fareeha grumbles half-heartedly. Angela pulls back to look at her, a soft smile in her face.

“I don't kiss Hana and tell her how much I love her after though.” She pulls Fareeha into a soft kiss. The Egyptian returns the gesture for a few seconds before pulling back.

“We should probably shower.”

“That we should,” says Angela, nuzzling into the crook of her girlfriend’s neck. “Perhaps I can repay you somehow...with a different sort of massage...”

Fareeha huffs out a laugh, goosebumps rising where Angela’s breath ghosts over her skin. “That is by no means necessary.”

“Is that a protest?” Angela pulls back and raises an eyebrow.

“Not at all! I just- You don’t have-” Fareeha stops talking when her fiancée places a finger on her lips, then kisses her once more.

“How about we take a cool shower, I have a  _ snack _ , and then we go make breakfast together?” Angela smiles as Fareeha nods enthusiastically, blush coloring her cheeks. “Honestly, ‘Reeha. I can’t let you get away with spoiling me so much. Let me return the favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- enjoy your snack, Angela... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	10. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela meets Bastion and Ganymede.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -for BZArcher and Hipsterpotomu5 suggested Ganymede and Bastion conversations  
> -IrisSteth suggested Ganymede preening Angela  
> -I suggested to my brain writing things that other people (AKA not me) have suggested, lmao

Angela notices her new shadow about a week after she starts flying outside regularly, swooping above the Watchpoint at the crack of dawn before it gets too hot. Sometimes Fareeha joins her in the Raptora, other times she goes on her usual morning jog, complete with her girlfriend lapping her around the base several times overhead.

Angela swoops down near Fareeha, blowing a much-needed breeze through her hair. Then she climbs again, darting this way and that, executing hairpin turns at the drop of a hat. Winded, she circles several times, casting her huge shadow over the jogger below.

“Are you a vulture? Am I about to die?” Fareeha calls out as Angela dips low and flies across her path once more. She smirks as she zooms by, laughing.

“I’m circling you because you’re drop-dead gorgeous!” Angela shouts, circling her as tightly as possible so she can be heard over the wind. Now that her girlfriend is thoroughly embarrassed, she flies up once more, laughing all the while. She watches Fareeha’s pace falter slightly at her blatant flirting, pleased. 

A flash of yellow crosses her line of sight.

Angela drops a few feet in surprise, scrambling to resume her rhythm of wing strokes within seconds. She attempts to look off in the direction it went. Then looks down to see if it fell. She’s trying to figure out how else she can find this brightly-colored intruder in such a large space. In the end, she doesn’t have to, because the bright yellow speck comes back.

The bird flies alongside her, chirping happily as it dodges her huge wings with ease. It looks familiar, but she can’t quite place it.

While she and this bird have been circling each other curiously, Fareeha stops jogging and looks up to a tiny speck flying around a larger speck, much like a gnat circling a fly. Suddenly, the small speck breaks off and heads toward the base. Angela makes to follow, then sees Fareeha waiting. She can see the moment when she decides to come back down, dropping into a dive. She pulls up at the last second several yards away, kicking an impressive cloud of dust and sticking the landing.

Fareeha holds out her own towel for Angela to use. “What was going on up there?”

“That was Bastion’s little friend!” She wipes her face down carefully, then pulls her water bottle from her thigh harness. After draining most of it, she continues. “That’s Ganymede. I’d been meaning to speak with him and Bastion, but I admit, it sort of got away from me.”

Fareeha’s brow furrows. “So you’re going to speak to an omnic and a bird?”

‘I’m sure we can find a common language of sorts!” She laughs, her face flushed with exertion. “I’m about to fly into the courtyard garden. Do you want to come with me?”

The Egyptian shakes her head, still gulping water from her own bottle. She gasps softly as she drains it, then pushes her loose bangs back from her forehead. “I think I need a shower first.”

“Oh, fair.” She reaches up and wipes the sweat off of Fareeha’s brow before returning the towel. “I’d love to join you, but Ganymede seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Go meet up with your new birdie bestie then.”

Angela giggles and stretches up for a kiss. Fareeha wrinkles her nose but presses a chaste one to her lips anyway.

“Don’t scrunch your face; we’re both sweaty!” Angela dashes away with a laugh and takes off again, flying straight for the courtyard.

- - -

When Angela lands, she spots Bastion sitting quietly near the water fountain in the shade of one of the giant jacarandas that populate the courtyard. In the foutain itself, Ganymede splashes around until he sees her land, then flies over to circle her. He serenades her as she approaches the omnic. Bastion beeps quietly, moving slowly to turn to her.

“Hello Bastion,” Angela says softly. “Both Zenyatta and Ganymede asked me to come see you. I apologize that it took me so long.”

Bastion beeps excitedly. She smiles.

“To answer your question, I am not convinced that Ganymede and I can understand each other.” Hearing this, the yellow bird alights on Angela’s hair and nestles. Bastion beeps a sequence that only be described as a giggle to which Ganymede only chirps.

“Perhaps he can understand me though?” She tilts her head, only to receive an indignant squawk in her ear. The songbird takes off once more, singing until he reaches Bastion’s shoulder.

Bastion points at Angela, beeping softly still. Angela flares her wings slightly and she beeps louder, shuffling impatiently. Ganymede takes off once more, but instead of landing on her head, he lands on her wings and begins to tug at her feathers.

“Ganymede-?”

- - -

When Fareeha enters the courtyard, having taken a shower and gotten lost trying to find its one entrance, she doesn’t know what she’s expecting to find.

Bastion whirls around at the sound of the door, trembling at the sound of an unexpected visitor. Angela hurries to soothe her.

“That’s Fareeha, she’s my girlfriend. You’ve met her before haven’t you?”

As Bastion comes into view, she sees the songbird circling her, effectively distracting the omnic until she can calm down. Once Bastion beeps amiably at the Egyptian, Ganymede returns to the tree above her. There, Angela sits on a jacaranda branch, wings spread out to either side. Occasionally, Ganymede pokes up his head to chirp something at Bastion or Angela, but otherwise, stays firmly interested in Angela’s wings.

“He doesn’t like the way I preen them. Actually, he doesn’t think I take care of them at all.”

Fareeha greets Bastion softly, then turns her confused gaze upon Angela. “He told you that?”

Angela shrugs, earning a disgruntled squawk from her tiny helper. She stills her wings and smiles at Fareeha. 

“In this case, actions are more important than words.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sorry, not sorry, i just love how happy flying makes angela


	11. Sticky Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela isn’t sure what she was expecting when she tested the bubble gum in her feathers for DNA, but now that she’s got a culprit, she wants to know why.

It’s early afternoon. Hana was certainly not sleeping when her intercom rung, so the sleepy look on her face is from the heat, not because she was napping. Not at all. She shoves a piece of gum in her mouth to rid her of the taste of sleep.

Her irritation quickly falls away once she yanks open the door to find none other than Angela tapping her foot and glaring at the glass tube in her hand. She puffs up, her fluffy feathers heavily contradicting the look of consternation on her face.

“Hana, I tested this. It came from you. I had to pull out two secondaries and a primary to get out the gum _near my stool._ ”

The gamer swallows hastily, wincing as the half-chewed wad struggles to go down her throat.

“Oh my god, Angie, I didn’t realize.”

Frowning, Angela shakes the tube; she can see the bright pink wad of gum rattling around. She can’t help but wonder how the doctor has kept it from sticking to the sides.

“Not to poke, but maybe you should have let them come back naturally? I thought plucking was bad.” Hana folds her arms and slumps against the door frame. “You’re giving me the disappointed mom look. I messed up, I know. Lay it on me.”

“Why would you leave it there?” Her voice shakes not with anger, but confusion.

“I was aiming for the trash can. Ladylike or not, I can spit pretty far and I usually make that shot. I should have checked.”

Angela pouts silently. Even her wings deflate and flutter anxiously.

Hana grimaces, twisting her toes into the carpet. “I’m really sorry, Angie. I didn’t realize it was on your stool. I had something _really_ important to do once I spit out my gum, I swear.” She sighs and shuffles her feet, all bravado lost. Angela can’t stand the pout on Hana’s face. She huffs and shoves the test tube in her back pocket.

“Alright, all is forgiven. Please don’t make that face. Clearly, it was an accident. They’ll grow back in less than a week.” The Swiss woman turns to go.

“Aw, but now I feel bad! Can you even fly like that?” Angela flinches and stops walking.

“Yes I can fly,” she sighs. “I’m just slightly off balanced.”

Hana groans, “That’s macho code for ‘I totally cannot fly,’ you loser. Don’t lie to me; you’re making me feel worse.”

“I’m sorry, Hana. I should have known better than to think that you’d purposefully do this." She squirms, wringing her hands together. "If I hadn’t been so upset, perhaps I would have thought about it a bit more.”

The Korean woman glares at the wilting woman before her. “Nope. Not good enough. Stay right there.”

She slams her door and Angela jumps, worried but curious. Ten minutes pass before Hana opens the door again, clad in a sun hat, shorts, and a tank top.

“You made me feel bad, so you now you get to fix that! We are going to go outside. We’re going to gossip and sunbathe while I massage your wings, got it?”

“Right now?” she squeaks, catching the bottle of sunscreen that Hana tosses her way. She slings her blanket over the shoulder and slaps a pair of sunglasses on with a grin.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

\- - -

It does not matter how many times Angela protests that it’s not necessary or that she has work to do, Hana ushers her relentlessly out to the grassiest part of the Watchpoint. She puts on sunscreen herself then helps Angela with it, then shoos her onto the blanket. Hana sits next to her, wipes excess sunscreen on her shorts, crosses her legs and asks, “Peregrine?”

Angela buries her face in her arms and responds with a very disgruntled, “Swallow.”

Hana gently pulls the wing into her lap and starts with the junction of back and wing. The small feathers under her fingers part easily as she massages the tense muscles underneath, careful to avoid tugging at them. Even though she’s already laying down, Angela completely melts at the lavish attention, eyelashes fluttering. Hana pauses for a moment to laugh at her expression, snapping her out of her bliss.

“Hana, really-”

“Nope, you’re stuck with me until I feel better about the gum and you being mad at me. You brought this on yourself.” She sinks her fingers back into her wing as Angela lets her head drop once more.

Too distracted to argue further, she murmurs, “Thank you, Hana.”

“Mhmm, it’s whatever.” Angela can’t see her soft smile, but she can hear the laughter in her voice. “But gossip, seriously! Is Lucio ever going to release new music? Can I get Winston to put him on a leave of absence? Because honestly…”


	12. Root Beer Floats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana arranges for a small picnic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Root beer float fluff as suggested by Budgie, with a side of Bastion and Ganymede interaction as suggested by Hipsterpotumu5 and BZArcher

Ana pokes her head into the courtyard, sneezing when a jacaranda petal lands directly on her nose. The purple petals swirl in the updraft of the warm courtyard, creating a fairytale scene before her. In the midst of it all sits Bastion. She pokes at the petals floating in the fountain, beeping happily as they swirl in the clear water’s current.

Rather than startle the omnic by approaching, Ana lifts her voice ever so slightly. “Good afternoon, Bastion.”

Chirping, she swivels toward the sound of her visitor and waves, beckoning until Ana steps into the room completely.

“I am always glad to see you enjoying the gardens here. Even before Overwatch fell, I felt this space was underappreciated.” She takes a seat on the edge of the fountain’s lowest pool and joins Bastion in swirling the petals in the water.

“Bastion, I was wondering if you’d like to see Angela today?” She laughs softly at the omnic’s excited beeping. “I imagine she doesn’t visit as often as she would like.” At this, she beeps softly and nods.

Ana smiles, watching as Bastion beeps loudly toward the trees at the far edge of the courtyard. Within seconds, Ganymede swoops out of the trees and alights on Bastion’s head singing.

“She’s somewhere up there with Fareeha.” Ana looks up. “Even in the sky, those two are inseparable.”

The sound that Bastion makes at that can only be described as a happy sigh. She follows it with a series of beeps, pointing at Ganymede and the fountain and waving her hand around at the sky. Though she knows Ana can hardly understand her, Bastion still tries to make herself clear and judging by the grin on the sniper’s face, she succeeds.

“Let’s make something special for them, hm?”

\- - -

Fareeha’s HUD lights up with a call from Ana just as Angela prepares to whizz through yet another configuration of the obstacle course. She taps her comm to address the hovering woman below.

“Hold on a sec, Ange. Mom’s calling.” Angela beats her wings to level with Fareeha, tilting her head curiously.

She flips the comm to her phone and answers.

“Two hours and thirty-seven minutes,” Ana starts without preamble.  “Have you lost track of time or is Angela being stubborn?”

The Raptora pilot winces. “The latter, I suppose. It’s her first time with the armor; she wanted to keep practicing.”

“Or she knows you won’t stop her unless she falls over.” Angela flies once around her hovering girlfriend before returning to her place in front of her.

 _What?_ Angela signs to be understood over the suits engine and her own wingbeats.

 _Mom._ Fareeha signs, nearly hitting herself in the face with how agitated and exaggerated the motion is. The blonde frowns, now waiting for further explanation.

“Fair enough, we’ll come down for now.”

“Go put your armor away and come to the courtyard.” Ana hangs up, giving her no time to respond. Fareeha sighs and flips back to the comm link.

“Mom needs us to come down and go the courtyard, no suits.”

“Odd, but very well. I can always come back after dinner.” Angela takes off toward the base, with Fareeha shortly behind.

“Or we could wait until tomorrow.” The pilot suggests. “We’ve done a lot for one day.”

They both alight on the cliff near the control room. Angela glances back out to sea at the buoys that make up the current obstacle course.

“You did well.” Fareeha says gently. “You have to be tired; there’s no escaping that. You can’t ruin yourself trying to get better.” She watches her girlfriend square her shoulders and prepare to argue but Angela deflates just as quickly.

“You’re right.”

“More often than not,” quips Fareeha, a pleased grin growing on her face. “Meet you at the courtyard in twenty-five?”

They both take off, one flying to the armory, the other to the med bay.

Nearly a half hour later, Angela reaches the courtyard a tad sooner, dressed in one of her signature sundresses. Her quick shower left her smelling faintly of roses, a fact that Fareeha immediately appreciates when she arrives a few minutes later. Angela clings to her girlfriend's arm and breathes in the orange spice that lingers on her and her soft blue blouse. She stumbles a little bit, but Fareeha holds her up as she pushes the courtyard door open.

"Mom, Bastion? It's Fareeha and Angela." 

From the far corner of the courtyard, they hear beeps and chirping as Ana calls out, "Back here, you two!"

Ganymede flies over and circles the pair as they amble toward the indicated corner. Angela flicks and fluffs her wings in equal measure, prompting delighted chirping from her avian friend. He alights on her outstretched arm and sings for them. Angela whistles back a tune of her own while Fareeha chuckles softly. The two certainly find a way to communicate somehow; every time she witnesses it, they've always come up with something new. 

They reach the stone picnic table in the back of the courtyard, where Bastion, Ana, a plate of sandwiches and a cooler await them. The table cloth is already littered with jacaranda petals, although the sandwiches are not. As they approach, one floats down and lands among the food; Bastion carefully plucks it off and places it on the table next to the plate.

"Thought it might be nice to have a picnic with the trees before they completely lose their blooms." Ana smiles at the pair of them but doesn't comment on the way Angela is all but being carried by Fareeha. The pair take a seat at the stone benches.

"This is lovely, Ana, thank you." Angela waits until Ana gives her a plate before reaching for a sandwich. Fareeha smiles at her mother, then greets Bastion softly and she beeps in return. Ganymede leaves Angela's shoulder to peck at a saucer of wild bird food that Ana sets on the table near Bastion. She watches the bird eat with interest, beeping quietly.

Fareeha nibbles at a sandwich, watching her mother do the same. Ana smiles innocently over her grilled cheese and tomato triangle. She tries very carefully to not watch Angela as she eats her way through a total of three sandwiches and starts on a fourth.

It's relatively quiet, save for Bastion and Ganymede's chirping. When Angela finishes with her fifth sandwich, Ana reaches in the cooler and pulls out a pitcher, a carton of French vanilla ice cream, two huge mugs, and a liter of root beer soda. Angela's eye widen in recognition of the ingredients for the famed dessert.

"Ana, no, that's so much sugar-"

"Hush, child. It won't kill you." Ana chuckles at the way Angela pouts and Fareeha lights up at the sight of the ingredients for root beer floats.

Bastion chirps, reaching out to grab the empty pitcher by the handle. Ana sets the whole soda container in the pitcher for her. 

"Fareeha's father always used to make these for her, you know." Ana grunts as she scoops two heaping hunks of ice cream into each mug.

"Because it's a North American thing!" Fareeha looks back and forth from her mother to her bemused girlfriend. "Where did you even find that root beer?"

Ana simply shrugs and pushes the mugs to each of them. Angela frowns at it, then notices the joy on her girlfriend's face. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to try it, especially if it's a favorite of yours..."

After Ana twists off the top if the soda bottle, Bastion very carefully lifts the pitcher and pours root beer into each of their mugs, chirping with delight as she doesn't spill a drop. Fareeha watches Angela for a reaction.

She's staring in awe at the sheer amount of foam rising out of the mug, topping the drink in a fluffy cloud and fizzing softly. Bastion finishes pouring and Angela waits for it to reach its apex before finally lifting the mug and taking a sip. 

There's a tiny squeak as the mountain of foam hits her in the face; Fareeha moves to grab a napkin. After taking a long sip, Angela lets out a blissful sigh as she sets the mug down. 

"Well, I certainly see why you like them so much!" She wiggles her nose, going cross-eyed to examine the dollop of foam on the tip. Fareeha tries to stop staring at the foamy mustache above her lips to no avail. "It _is_ a little messy though."

Angela scrunches up her face and Fareeha can almost see the thought crossing her mind. "Don't! I have a better idea."

Blue eyes flick from her face down to the napkin in her hand; Fareeha brings it toward Angela's face, holding it as a curtain between them and their company. She glances over to where Bastion is now hand-feeding Ganymede and her mother is rummaging in the cooler.

"Not the napkin," she whispers, leaning in toward Angela. She licks the spot of foam off of her nose, then captures her upper lip in a soft kiss. Forgetting the others, Angela relaxes into the kiss, barely resisting a plaintive whine when Fareeha breaks it off just as quickly as it began.

The Egyptian woman grins, licking the remaining foam off of her own lips. "The fizz has always been my favorite part." She drops her voice even lower. "But now you're my favorite part of the fizz..."

As her wings flutter wildly, Angela's blush starts in her cheeks and travels at lightning speed to the rest of her face, all the way to the tip of her ears. With her face burning, she can barely process what just occurred, let alone counter it. She watches as Fareeha leans back and takes a sip of her own float. Fareeha grins as she skillfully avoids making the same situation possible for her.

"Angela!" Ana says with a grin at her beet-red adopted daughter. "It's not often that someone avoids the foamstache on their first try."

Bastion and Ganymede both chirp curiously. Angela stares resolutely at the bobbing ice cream in her float, refusing to look at her girlfriend. Fareeha nearly chokes on her drink at the knowing expression her mother has.

"Ah well," Angela says brightly, cupping the mug in both hands. She smiles at Ana. "I suppose that's just beginner's luck!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -If this were not already obvious, Ana never misses out on a chance to mother Fareeha (or Angela) these days  
> 


	13. Perch Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya can make just about anything she puts her mind to, especially when it's something to help someone else.  
> Occasionally, this requires an outside opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little* gem was suggested by BZArcher: "Satya making her an Angela-sized perch so she'll stop trying to roost up on structurally unsuitable beams or ledges."  
>   
> *thanks to my Supremely Extra Brain, it's not little anymore, it's 5.5k and it ate my life, absorbed no less than four key plot points i was saving for something else, and kicked my teddy bear lmao (but i'm finally happy with it, so i hope y'all will be too <3)

Every thirty seconds or so, the architect lifts her pen and almost plucks at the projection’s lines. She adjusts her glasses and squints, trying to understand exactly what is wrong with the 3-D design. The collection of crisp blue lines rotates slowly in space, suspended in the Research and Development lab of Watchpoint Gibraltar.

When Satya arrived at the watchpoint several months ago, Mei and Torbjörn had already carved out their own workspaces in the messy and abandoned R&D lab. Thankfully, her workspace is just as impeccable as the day she first cleaned it, along with the other neglected stations. At the moment, it is not the physical space that’s cluttered, it’s the air above it.

To her right, screens display an assortment of playground swings, ergonomic desk chairs, and parrot perches. Color palettes— some of the watchpoint, some experimental swatches— close in on her left side, next to a list of materials and textures. The space in front of Satya is littered with holographic screens, each displaying a not-quite-scrapped design.

She’s created the design in front of her four times now, independently of any others and she still dislikes it. Her eye twitches slightly as she thinks about extending the lip of the seat three centimeters forward. She draws her pen back at the last moment, allowing the design to stay the same once more. She’s backed herself into a creative corner. Satya understands this feeling well.

Architectural stagnation, her Vishkar tutors and colleagues called it. Such an affliction required an outside eye, a critical opinion. Typically, this involved a fellow architect who would likely rudely scrap the whole design and provide an alternative one.

 _Typically_ , Satya recalls with a wince, this person would have been her. While her manners have improved since she left Vishkar, she realizes the situation is much the same here. At Vishkar, few people could be called on to provide counsel to Architect Vaswani; in Overwatch’s ragtag recall skeleton crew, even fewer people met the standard she sought.

First would be Torbjörn. However, the Swedish engineer, skilled in all things mechanical and metal, was on a mission of the more diplomatic sort, acting as a proxy for-

Angela, her second choice, an eye for practicality and a frequently underappreciated talent for engineering, even if it tended to be on the microscopic scale. Leaving aside that the project was _for_ her, there was also the matter of Angela being on the same trip as Torbjörn, holed away in a hotel room while he made presentations on her behalf.                               

That leaves Fareeha. Engineer. Pilot. A flair for dramatics and an eye for detail, no doubt inherited from her mother. Satya bites her tongue in contemplation. Mission wise, things had been quiet for a few days. Fareeha might be on base, perhaps even nearby. Surely she would not mind lending a hand.

Satya sits back and takes a deep breath, fiddling with the grip on her stylus. Curious, she points it at the icon for the metadata of her project.

_ > Last edit made 54 minutes ago. _

“Athena,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. “Please place a call to Fareeha.”

The AI makes the call and the phone rings twice, a pleasant tone that echoes faintly in the emptiness of the lab. A crackling sound comes across the line as Fareeha picks up.

“Hey, Satya! What’s up?” She sounds normal, not out of breath or muffled as if her mouth is full. Satya lowers her stylus and breathes a soft sigh of relief; perhaps this will not be an inconvenience to her after all.

“Would you happen to have an hour to spare? I require a practical opinion on a project of mine.”

“I’ll be there in ten. You’re in the R&D lab, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Cool, be there soon!” The phone clicks. Satya blinks and begins to rearrange the screens around her, trying to ignore the failed blueprints. She spaces the projections so they can be viewed by two people, then creates a seat next to her. She redoes her ponytail, pulling loose strands of hair away from her face. Tucking her stylus behind her ear, Satya simply watches the latest construction rotate slowly in space. She’s so entranced that she doesn’t see Fareeha walk in five minutes later. In fact, it’s not until she hears the rumble of a rolling chair being pushed across the floor that she realizes she’s no longer alone.

“No! That is Torbjörn’s chair.” Satya winces at her own harshness. “I’m sorry but he dislikes when people adjust the height. It’s made to his specifications.”

Fareeha takes a look at the chair she’s pushing, at the levers and gears and gaudy paint. “I feel really stupid for not noticing that.” She turns on heel and rolls it back the way she came, gently replacing it at his workstation. “Guess I’m used to him working in the armory.”

“I understand. I imagine you’re not in here often. Never mind that, I’ve made you a seat.” The architect gestures at the stool; Fareeha thanks her and sits, peering at the screens around them as Satya spreads them out.

“It’s no trouble. Seats are simple constructs, one of the first we learn to make as architects. After all, Vishkar always did want each of us to have a seat any table we approached, whether we were welcome or not.” Satya presses her lips together.

“Fairly nefarious origins aside, I appreciate it.” Fareeha smiles; Satya is thankful that the other woman always seems to have a witty quip when she herself doesn’t know what else to say. Not trusting herself to respond any further, Satya simply nods.

“Do I need a pair of those? For the projection?” When Satya turns to her in confusion, Fareeha taps the bridge of her nose. Confused, Satya narrows her eyes, bringing her hand to her face until her fingertips grace over the bridge of her glasses.

“Oh no, these are simply...my vision is imperfect.” Satya pulls her glasses off and wipes at an invisible smudge to hide the creeping blush on her face.

“You don’t have to take them off! I just had never seen them before,” Fareeha lifts her hands in surrender and Satya raises a single eyebrow. “There are about four people on this base that don’t need reading glasses; I’m not one of them.”

“Very well.” Satya replaces her glasses and retrieves her stylus from behind her ear. “Anyway, I’ve determined that Angela needs a specialized chair for her office: one that supports her back and allows her wings to stretch, but still is comfortable enough for how much time she spends in it.”

Satya drags the most current diagram over so Fareeha can see it, then spins another stylus out of hard light. Fareeha takes the stylus absently and begins to spin the projection in space.

“This looks amazing, Saty.”

“I dislike it. There are elements missing.” When Fareeha expands the diagram to examine the joints, Satya just sighs. “All of the angles are correct, but it _lacks_.”

“Lacking a certain _l’eau d’Angela_ , perhaps?”

“I’ve never heard of such a...thing…” As her brain catches up with what’s been said, Satya puts down her stylus. The new screen with the search engine flickers; its search query bar is half-filled. She side-eyes Fareeha. “That was a joke.”

Fareeha covers her mouth with her free hand, failing to hold back a snort. “It wasn’t, I swear. I swear it’s a figure of speech.”

“Water of Angela. Her essence. Of course, I understand now.” Satya sighs. “To be fair, you said it so smoothly that I did not hear the apostrophes.”

Fareeha turns to her, a thoughtful smile on her lips. “You haven’t eaten anything since you got in here, have you?”

“I just had breakfast not so long ago-”

“It’s nearly four in the afternoon,” says Fareeha, getting to her feet. “Save this. You need to eat.”

“Fareeha-”

“Or else I won’t tell you what I think is missing. That’s what you wanted, right? Think of it as an exchange.” Fareeha’s grin is incredibly smug as she watches Satya contemplate this.

“Only if I can eat in here.”

“And ruin your lab space?”

“Then my tablet comes with me.”

Fareeha considers that. “Fair enough.”

*    *    *   

In the main kitchen, Satya sets a pot to boil on the range and returns to the island to chop an assortment of fresh vegetables. Sitting at the island as well, Fareeha plucks an apple out of the fruit bowl, shining it on her shirt. As Satya watches, Fareeha meets her eye with a smirk, grips the apple with both hands and _crack!_ The sharp sounds surprises Satya; her eyebrows fly up to her hairline as she sees that the other woman has split the apple into halves.  She hands one half to Satya.

“I would have cut that if you’d asked. There was no need to go to such lengths.” Pushing a bundle of scallions aside, she uses the knife in question to cut her half into slices. Fareeha shrugs gleefully, making Satya realize that was the point. “You are such a show-off.”

Satya pops an apple slice into her mouth. She makes quick work of the fruit, surprised to feel her stomach grumbling and growling. She looks up, expecting to be teased, but Fareeha’s staring out the window, munching on her apple.

“Thank you for suggesting that I eat something,” says Satya as she resumes chopping vegetables.

“You really ought to take better care of yourself.” Even with Fareeha’s mouth partially full of apple, her terrible accent, and too-high pitch, Satya gets the point.

“I wouldn’t accept such a criticism from Angela, but I will take it from you.”

Fareeha snorts softly. They lapse into a comfortable silence and after a bit, Fareeha gestures for the tablet, which Satya gladly hands over.

“So, you got the writing desk right...or rather _left_ ,” Fareeha starts with a chuckle, otherwise ignoring Satya’s low groan. “But it should be all the way across so she has a enough space to sprawl her papers as well as write. Maybe some wrist support.” With a few flicks of the stylus, Fareeha extends the desk across the full length of the swing and sketches in some other additions; Satya leans over the pile of chopped carrots, mushrooms, and onions to take a better look at the tablet screen. “It has to be functional enough that she’ll use it. Not to make it mandatory, but you know how she gets.”

Satya hums, content to let the other woman continue.

“It’s not a toy. She’ll kill us both if it even _looks_ fun, but it has to be moveable. Even her regular chair rolls.”

“It can swing back and forth. Of course, I’ve added an anchor feature that can hold the swing in place, when paired with a magnetic field. She can engage that as she pleases.” She grabs a couple of eggs from the the refrigerator and whisks them, then sets them aside.

“That’s clever, but I was talking about vertically,” Fareeha replies. Satya pauses, knife held over the cutting board. “We could use a small motor to raise it into the ceiling for storage. Same motor can lift it up and down in tiny amounts. I’ll see what scraps Torbjorn has down in the workshop and work something out. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

After tossing the vegetables and noodles into the pot, Satya rinses her hands, then returns to watch Fareeha sketch out aesthetic suggestions and engineering improvements. It takes a while for them to discuss and argue about some of the finer details and functions, especially with Satya darting between the stove and island every few moments, but eventually they reach a compromise on the design of the swing.

Fareeha shakes her head, looking over their combined design for finishing touches. “Most importantly, we can’t call it a swing.”

“Perhaps a hanging chair?” Satya calls over her shoulder as she adds a sprig of cilantro to each of the steaming bowls. She sets Fareeha’s bowl just out of spill-reach of the tablet. “It’s a more technical name.”

“Doesn’t matter what we call it. She’s gonna see a perch.” Perplexed, she looks up, eyes widening at the bowl in front of her. “You didn’t have to-”

“Do you wish for me to take it back?” Satya raises her eyebrows and reaches for the second bowl, but Fareeha grabs it first.

“No! Thank you!” She nudges the tablet toward Satya and tucks into the food. “Really, thanks.”

“As I thought.” She takes a seat at the island, then uses her own stylus to change the interface of the design program. “Now, about colors…”

*       *       *  

_“Slow down and run that by me again?”_

Back in the fabrication labs, Fareeha makes a face, glaring at the phone sitting adjacent to her tinker space. Satya taps her foot on the desk drawer of her own workspace; her soft sole makes a gentle sound that she can focus on. Even though she’s reasonably sure Ana has the phone to her ear, Fareeha’s speaker broadcasts every little sound that her mother’s mic picks up. It’s no easy feat to ignore the chatter of Reinhardt and Jack in the background; judging by the echoing quality of the call, they’re likely in a conference room. She pauses from where she’s fitting newly-fabricated pieces of a miniature prototype swing together and watches Fareeha pace and try to negotiate with her mother.

“We have a surprise for her, but before she gets back, we need to install it.”

_“In her office.”_

“Yes.”

 _“In her_ highly secure _office.”_

“...Yes.” Fareeha has the grace to look sheepish, clearly chagrined by her mother’s flat and skeptical tone. Satya only barely resists the urge to bury her face in her hands. Instead, she grabs her tablet, takes a screen capture of the finished design, and sends it to Ana.

A tinny _beep_ signals that it arrives almost instantaneously and it’s a short moment before Ana lets out a bark of laughter. _“She’s going to hate that, you know that, right?”_

For the first time, Satya speaks up, lifting her voice to carry across the room. “Regardless of her initial dislike of the implications of such a design, she needs the support. Her office chair is too cramped for her wings and-”

 _“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Satya. I’m just making sure you realize.”_ Ana hums and Satya can just imagine her examining the chair. _“And about permission, I think you need to ask her yourselves.”_

“But it’s a surprise!” Fareeha insists, throwing her hands into the air. “She’ll know something’s up if _we_ ask her. I’m terrible at keeping secrets!”

Ana scoffs. _“As if having_ me _ask for extended access to her office would not let her know ‘something is up’. Fareeha, listen to yourself. Now, call her.”_

The call ends with an unceremonious beep and Fareeha rolls her eyes, shrugging in defeat. She turns to Satya and gestures with a little jerk of her head. “Okay, maybe she’s right.” She says as Satya crosses the room.

“She usually is. Though perhaps asking _how_ to ask would have been more effective than asking her to _do_ the asking.” When Fareeha pouts at her, Satya simply raises an eyebrow until the other woman relents.

“Fine, let’s call her.” Fareeha holds the phone out so the view captures both of them and the video call begins to ring; it rings and rings until finally Angela picks up. Satya bites back a sigh because, as usual, the blonde looks exhausted. When she finally stops rubbing at her eyes, Satya can see the dark circles under them as well as her mussed hair. Clearly just having woken up, Angela squints at the camera.

“Fareeha?  I thought we agreed on late-” She blinks and Satya waves. “Satya? Fareeha? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Watchpoint’s fine. We just need a favor.” Fareeha winces. “Not a favor, more like-”

“Permission,” Satya interjects smoothly, smiling in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “Angela, we made something for you. However, we need access to your office to install it.”

Angela immediately begins to worry her lip. “It can’t wait until I get back?”

“I think it would be best if it were ready to be used upon your return.”

“And we already talked to Athena.” Fareeha chimes in. “It doesn’t have to be _open,_ you could just change the biometric permissions.”

Angela sits up, the view shifting as she does so. In the background, the headboard of an unfamiliar bed gleams in the nearby lamplight. From the look of her rumpled clothing and her listless wings, it’s evident that she was not prepared to fall asleep whenever she did. Apparently, Satya is not the only one to notice this; Fareeha makes a discontented sound in the back of her throat.

“We woke you.”

“And it’s a good thing you did. _Herrgott,_ is that the time? I need to review talking points with Torbjörn before he heads to the convention center.” The camera view shifts and wobbles until they’ve got a clear view of a fancy bathroom ceiling. Offscreen a faucet begins to run and they wait patiently for the doctor to remember the phone call. Eventually, Angela picks up the phone again and points her toothbrush at them.

“Anyways, should I be worried about you two conspiring?” There’s a playful note in her voice, but her expression is slightly guarded. Satya can see her wings ruffling in the background.

“Of course not,” Satya says, keeping her voice even. “We’re always looking for ways to make you happier. Thus, I asked Fareeha to assist me with this because I required her skills for a project designed to bring you comfort. I understand how sensitive your office is, but I really do believe in the efficacy of-”

Satya trails off as Angela lets out a soft sigh and eventually dissolves into a bout of tired laughter. She turns to look at Fareeha but her expression is just as confused as she feels.

“What am I thinking?” Angela shakes her head, slumping against the wall behind her. Satya winces in sympathy, for the position doesn’t look comfortable. “Look at me, acting like I don't trust you. That’s what I get for hanging around academic snobs all week. Is 48 hours enough time? I’ll be back at the watchpoint by then.”

“I think that’ll be plenty. And when we’re done, we’ll ask Athena to revoke the access, alright? We wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, I promise.”

“Thank you, ‘Reeha. And I know that. I’m sorry I sounded like I didn’t.”

“We woke you,” Fareeha repeats with a laugh. “I can only imagine what a weird request it was, hearing it when you’re groggy.”

“Not to interrupt-” Satya pauses when both women startle and turn to her. “But perhaps you should take some time to think it over. After having eaten… and preened as well? You look disheveled in many ways.”

Angela looks away from the camera and studies the bristles of her toothbrush with great interest. “I didn’t bring the preening brush.”

Satya scowls. “I see.”

“I meant to! There were so many other things I needed to pack.”

“You clearly packed your toothbrush.”

“Of course, I packed my-”

“Your preening brush is arguably just as important!”

“I forgot about it! I’ll brush them later-”

“You shouldn’t subject yourself to such neglect-”

“Woah, time out!” Fareeha frowns, waving her hand between Satya and the image of Angela on the phone. They both turn to her; Satya holds her gaze until Fareeha turns back to Angela. “Ange, Satya’s right. You shouldn’t be forgetting to take care of yourself, that includes your wings. But Satya, she has to learn. She’s not going to start remembering to do these things if you keep reminding her.”

Satya opens her mouth to argue and shuts it again when Fareeha shoots her a look. There’s a beat of silence as she takes a deep breath and reconsiders her words. “I apologize. I should have considered that.”

“And I apologize too. There’s no excuse for me forgetting to care for myself, especially when I’m so far away.” Angela drags a hand through her hair, forgetting the toothbrush as she does so. There’s a brief struggle as she yanks it out. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright,” Satya says softly, letting her shoulders droop. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re already so tired; I should have been more thoughtful-”

“But aren’t you already? You’re making something for me. I should appreciate that.” Angela flashes a tired smile at the two of them and while Fareeha beams back, Satya’s own smile feels stiff. She lets Fareeha and Angela exchange their goodbyes and simply waves, waiting until the call has ended. She forces herself to take measured steps to her own workspace, breathing deeply through her nose and clenching her tablet tight. She hears Fareeha clear her throat, so she stops, halfway across the room.

“You can say it,” says Fareeha, her voice soft and startlingly calm.

 _Say what?_ Satya bites her tongue so hard that a jolt of pain runs all the way to the back of her throat. She doesn’t need permission to speak. Fareeha’s asking, after all. There’s no waiting discipline for speaking her mind and perhaps that’s why it comes out so harshly.

“Clearly I’ve made a mistake.”

“Satya, you haven’t ma-”

She whirls on heel, tucking her tablet under one arm and jabbing a finger in Fareeha’s direction. “No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to tell me that _now_ after telling me, after Ana telling me, after Angela herself telling me, after _all of you_ telling me it’s not a good idea. Why are you even helping? She clearly doesn’t use the things I’ve already made for her own benefit. What’s the point of making it if she won’t use it?”

“Okay, you’re right. I said that.” The quiet admission startles Satya almost as much as her own outburst. “I didn’t mean to make you think it wasn’t important. I shouldn’t have teased you so much.”

Satya swipes at her face with her sleeve and when she speaks again, there’s no heat in her voice. “I didn’t have to do this.”

“I know you didn’t. But I promise she’ll like it. It just might not seem so at first. She’ll appreciate it because you made it and especially because she has the option to use it. Even if we all know it’s better for her.” Fareeha shrugs when Satya narrows her eyes. “Mom and I… we’re used to her being...Angela. She’s not fond of people telling her what she needs.”

Satya shakes her head, her quiet voice raw with frustration. “But this is _new._ Her circumstances have changed drastically and she still neglects herself. I cannot begin to understand how you let her _do that._ Why doesn’t she understand that she can’t just act like-” There are not enough words in the world for what Satya wants to say so she stops speaking, letting the unsaid feeling out in one frustrated snarl instead. The petulance of it makes her skin crawl, but there’s simply no helping it. She slumps against the nearest counter, letting it hold her upright.

“I need to remind myself that you haven’t known her as long as we have,” Fareeha says softly and Satya resists the urge to curl in on herself as she hears the other woman approach. Fareeha flops against the counter as well, only a respectable few centimeters away. “She actually used to be worse, believe it or not. Wings aside, she’s still stubborn Dr. Ziegler, and that means sometimes, you have to let her see how stupid she’s being. That’s the quickest way to help her. She’s incredible, not infallible. But I promise you, _you’re_ not doing anything wrong. You’re amazing.”

“I...thank you. Noted.” She takes a deep breath and fiddles with her ponytail, tilting her head to side-eye Fareeha. “I would have preferred this explanation six hours ago. Or even a month ago.”

“That’s fair.” Fareeha bumps Satya’s shoulder playfully until she turns toward her, but Athena chimes in before she can add anything else.

“Pardon me, Ms. Vaswani and Chief Amari, but I must inform you that you have been granted access to Dr. Ziegler’s private medical office for a period of 48 hours, starting from this moment. Your thumbprint will allow you immediate access to the space and must be used upon each re-entry.”

“Thanks, Athena!” Fareeha says, flashing Satya a grin. “Right, we should probably get back to work.”

Satya nods and turns around to grab her tablet, expecting Fareeha to have moved away but she’s still standing there. The architect makes a face.

“She’ll love it, okay? It just might not be obvious right away.”

Satya hums, but only in half-agreement. As far as she's concerned, she's made up her mind on the subject. Form and function come before favor; the chair needn’t be loved, only useful.

*       *       *  

After forty-five hours and thirty-seven minutes, Satya almost regrets starting this endeavor. It takes near-constant reminders to stay on task because the roadblocks are so  _mundanely treacherous._ A ceiling should not be such a hassle to reform. Enamel should not require nearly a day to cure. Electric circuits should not be so counterintuitive.

First of all, Fareeha, armed with positively archaic power tools, headed down the med bay first. It was only a short few hours before she’d called for help. Then Satya started the walk from the R&D to the med bay, turned back and placed a teleporter pad, then walked all the way to the med bay to place another. There she’d found Fareeha with her body halfway into the ceiling.

In the end, making sure there were enough electrical circuits and split breakers to sustain the powerful little motor Fareeha had built required calling Torbjörn; the Swede then insisted on the pair finishing two projects he’d been working on in exchange for them― _Fareeha_ ― sniping his supplies without asking. That alone took four hours too long. Then sleep, a necessary nuisance.

Fabricating, applying enamel to each piece, and assembling the swing’s dozen of parts was a one person job, but setting up the supporting infrastructure required not only Fareeha’s hands, but Satya’s and, on more than one occasion, Ana’s. Too often, simply holding things in place because, oh no, it couldn’t always be propped or clamped. Part of the ceiling, the infrastructure, and other heavy, dusty things had to be held by hands that could make on-the-fly adjustments.  While Satya works on minute circuitry within the chair and calibrates its functions, Fareeha tinkers away in Angela’s office, making progress on an endless checklist every time Satya checks in. By the time Satya carries the finished swing through the teleporter and props it against a nearby wall, there’s still much to be done.

Now, with only a few hours to spare, Satya would not have minded so much if she weren’t standing on Angela’s drop-sheet-covered desk in stockings, holding a rounded piece of ceiling tile in place while Fareeha drills anchor holes into a support beam. The office’s small windows let in stalest of breezes, making Satya’s hair stick to her face even more. With the electricity shut off to the med bay, the window’s their only hope for relief, so the muggy August heat does not help Satya’s mood.

Fareeha, even though she’s drenched with sweat and still halfway into the ceiling, hums cheerfully. When the resized ceiling tiles are properly fitted, hinged and neatly in place, Fareeha makes a final check of the machinery and hops down from the ladder, helping Satya down from the desk on the way. With the electrician work done, Satya wastes no time in heading back to the nearby maintenance closest and flipping the breaker for the office back on.

Back in the office, Satya closes the windows, stands underneath one of the AC vents, and watches as Fareeha tests the vertical motion of the attached chain. As the engineer flicks the new wall switch near the light dimmer, the chain smoothly ascends into the ceiling, disappearing into the hole until it reaches the end, which opens a longer panel of the ceiling. When the chain stops winding up, Fareeha laughs in delight and high-fives Satya, who returns the gesture in a bit of a daze. Finally, it’s time for the swing itself.

Once it’s attached and its wires properly connected, Fareeha holds the swing steady while Satya climbs on and begins to test the functions. It raises, lowers, tilts, and swings just as expected. It stills when she pulls the lever that engages the magnet in the floor. The desk swivels and stores precisely as it was designed. The seat is more than comfortable and its back support is exquisite. It’s a work of art by all accounts.

Satya smiles.

Clean up takes another hour, what with the amount of dust, drywall, and fabrication scraps littered about the office. They’ve only just finished putting the office back together when Athena announces, “Dr. Ziegler’s transport ship will be arriving in approximately fifty minutes.”

“Ouch, Athena, a little more warning would have been appreciated!”

“I would have been happy to warn you at the standard two-hour mark, Chief Amari,” Athena says smoothly, flashing her sensor lights in their direction. “But electricity was disabled to the med bay and its auxiliary rooms. And your phone is still in the research and development labs. As is yours, Ms. Vaswani.”

Satya shares a panicked look with Fareeha. They take one last look around the office; Satya carries leftover tools back through the teleporter, leaving Fareeha to lock up. After deconstructing the teleporters, tidying up, and showering, Satya all but sprints back to the med bay, only to stop short at a familiar expanse of silvery-white feathers blocking the door.

Angela turns around, looking a bit better rested than a couple of days ago. She smiles at Satya, shifting the messenger bag on her shoulder.

“Should I not go in yet?”

Satya shakes her head, gesturing ahead of her. As Angela pushes the door open, Satya looks over her shoulder expecting to see Fareeha. Ready to call Angela back before she gets sight of the chair, she peeks into the med bay and spots the Egyptian curled up on one of the beds, snoring softly, damp hair plaited into several sections. Angela leans over her girlfriend and drops a kiss onto her forehead.

“See, now we’re even, _liebe_. I woke you up this time.”

“Ange, you’re back.” Returning the kiss, Fareeha swings her legs over the side of the bed and shoos Angela toward her office, where Satya waits patiently. “I wasn’t asleep. I was napping, very important difference.”

Satya thinks of prefacing the reveal with something, but for once, she can’t think of anything. She simply gestures to the locked door, inviting Angela to present her credentials and unlock the office.

Satya can only imagine how the chair looks to Angela. In the late afternoon sun, the gold, yellow, and orange enamel paints gleam, contrasting with the silver and black of the more functional parts. The Valkyrie insignia is emblazoned in white on the wide side of the swing’s arms. The arms taper off into a silver arch and the chain attaches to the middle of this arch, disappearing into the ceiling. Under the wide and plush yellow seat, the magnet’s casing gleams. Satya smiles, her exhaustion ebbing away as a swell of pride takes its place.

Out of the corner of her eye, Satya watches as Angela’s expressions shifts through several emotions in a matter of moments. The medic takes a deep breath and her wings fluff at the same time. She stands frozen in place, staring at the chair. It’s a long moment before she exhales; her wings deflate too. But when Angela turns back to look at them, her smile is radiant. “It’s gorgeous.”

Fareeha sighs. “I knew you were going to say- wait what?”

Satya blinks at Angela as she makes her way over to the chair. Fareeha shoots her a confused look, but Satya shrugs, keeping her eyes on Angela.

“I know what it is; don’t look at me like that.” Angela runs her fingers over the smooth material, circling the contraption and running her hand over the control panel. “Well, I know what it _looks_ like, but that’s not what it is, is it? What would you call it?”

“It’s a seat designed to fit your specific ergonomic needs...” Satya tries to keep the confusion out of her voice.

“Right, so it’s obviously not a _bird_ perch. It’s an _Angela_ perch.” She lifts an eyebrow until Satya nods. “It’s perfect. Stop gaping at me. It’s like you think I’m not capable of learning anything. You do know how much of my life I spent in school, don’t you?”

Astonished, Fareeha tries and fails to hold back a snort; she dissolves into full-blown chortling in a matter of seconds. Satya finds herself giggling as well, only laughing harder when Angela turns beet red and begins scolding them both for their childishness. The scolding quickly turns into hesitant laughter when neither Fareeha nor Satya stops in the slightest, but it couldn't be more clear that the medic doesn't understand why they're both laughing so much. Satya tries to explain a couple of times but gets absolutely nowhere, especially not with Angela pouting pitifully next to the swing.

"I suppose I deserve this...whatever this is?" Angela crosses her arms and eyes them both, ruffling her wings.

"Just a little bit," Fareeha says with a wheeze, holding her fingers slightly apart to demonstrate an arbitrary amount- a gesture that sends both her and Satya into a fresh fit of giggles. 

It's another minute before they can finally rein in their laughter and begin to show Angela how to use the chair's controls. Fareeha helps Angela climb on while Satya explains the function of each of the buttons and levers. As Angela listens with open interest, Satya can’t help but think that the chair is already that much more beautiful because it is cherished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I'm never putting myself on a weekday update schedule again. ><  
> One more little self-indulgence, before I move onto yet another multi-chapter, but this time plot driven!, self-indulgence. See you _soon_!


	14. On Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, missions that end early, are worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -disclaimer: not a medical professional, even tho Angela is one, so I tried to follow the hypothermia treatment that i looked up as closely as I could but don't take my word for it!  
> 1/6/17 RETCONS (i am so so sorry; i hate doing this, trust me)  
> -rather than December, this takes place _very close to the beginning of the 3rd part of SFV_ and is set in mid-August.  
>  -This is now set in the northern forests of Yukon, not British Columbia, which is north of BC.

Deep in the northern forests of the Yukon province, a single ATV rumbles through the trees, following a faintly marked path. Its electric whine echoes through the naked trees and reaches the ears of their aerial escort, who scouts ahead for trouble. Otherwise, the forest is quiet and it falls back into complete silence as the vehicle reaches a small cabin.

The ATV driver dismounts and removes her helmet, shaking out her mop of brown hair while her passenger does the same, albeit with more grace. Lena and Satya watch as Angela lands, stirring up the light dusting of snow with her wings. Clasped to her chest is their mission objective, safe and sound.

“Well, that’s a wrap! Nicely done everyone!” Lena claps cheerfully, ignoring the look that Satya and Angela shoot each other as they prepare to enter the safe house together. Satya throws the cover over the ATV; Angela unlocks the door. While Lena stomps the snow off of her boots and sheds her coat, Satya closes and secures the door behind them. Lena’s chronal accelerator casts an ethereal blue light on the room until Angela flips on the lights.

“Well, we are ahead of schedule. Twenty-seven hours until we should be back at the airfield.” Satya peels off her scarf and gloves, then her coat and hat. As she hangs them up, Angela hums thoughtfully. Their initial reconnaissance turned into the mission itself, so this is unsurprising in many ways.

“We could always ask to be moved up a bit, you know. I’m sure Winston can get the plane cleared a bit earlier.” She checks the briefcase once more. Each test tube contains a nanite solution pilfered from an Overwatch warehouse three weeks ago. she couldn’t be happier to have them back. The biometric scanner on the case only responds to her after all; the case was clearly abandoned when they couldn’t crack it. As her first mission back in the field, it couldn’t have gone any better.

Once they’d realized there was no activity in the base, Tracer darted into the warehouse for the briefcase while Symmetra ran interference and Mercy kept guard from the air. They ran into an easily-dispatched squadron of security bots, but no humans, Talon or otherwise, got in their way. Even the cold weather didn’t put a damper on their spirits. The temperature was well below freezing but the wind wasn’t blowing. Only a thin layer of snow lay on the ground, just enough to make a crunching sound that Lena delights in. The noise also irks Satya, but she enjoys her companions’ laughter enough to make up for it. For instance, right now, when Lena continues to stomp around on the welcome mat of the safe house. She pauses, wiggling her toes in her boots.

“Ange, I’ve got a better idea! Let’s go ice-skating.”

Angela pauses from where she’s shoving the briefcase in the safe, but it’s Satya who speaks up first.

“There’s a snowstorm coming tonight, Lena. Remember? That was to cover us for our attack tomorrow morning.”

She scoffs and grins widely. “Yeah, but that’s what fun about it, hey? I mean, sure, it's _technically_ summer, but the temperature's been freezing for days! Betcha there’s a frozen pond around here somewhere with our names on it!”

Satya grimaces. “And where will we get these skates?”

Lena’s only response is her big brown puppy-dog eyes. The medic sees this and sighs.

“Lena, you cannot just-“

“Vishkar did not develop hard light to be used as a toy,” interjects Satya. The British woman wilts at her severe tone. “It was to be a tool to better the world and elevate all of its people to the same high plateau of living.”

She pauses; eyebrow raised, Angela holds her breath.

“That being said, Vishkar never really used it for that purpose, so it'll hardly be sacrilege to make us each a pair of skates.” She cracks a smile and ducks her head, pleased at the way both of her companions burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe you’d pull my leg like that!” Lena sinks into the closest chair, still giggling.

“I can be funny sometimes.” Satya replaces her photon gun in its case, still smiling.

Nanites secure, Angela spins the safe tumbler to reset it. “That you can.”

In the end, it only takes Satya a half hour to develop suitable blades for the three of them. Angela checks the weather again and again before they leave the safehouse once more, clad in simple winter wear instead of their cold weather mission gear.

Angela scouts ahead, searching for one the apparently omnipresent ponds Lena mentioned. She finds one a hundred meters south of them, then flies back to lead them there. It’s smaller than a standard skating rink by a long shot, but it will have to do.

At the edge of the pond, Satya taps the ice and takes a core, using the length, current temperature, and several other factors to determine the minimum thickness of the ice, then to determine if it will hold their combined weight.

“I confess, it appears that it will only safely hold two of us.” Satya reports. Lena’s face falls for a second.

“That’s alright! We can find another-”

“Or we can take turns.” Angela glances at the surrounding forest and up the slope where the safe house lay. “We are still technically vulnerable; I will keep watch from shore.”

Before they can argue, Angela flies up and perches in a naked oak while her companions strap their blades to their boots and shuffle onto the ice. Eventually, they get their feet underneath them.

Lena skates in wide circles around the edges, giggling at the smooth turns and wicked speed she accrues. Satya follows her initially, then they race around the perimeter for a few minutes until they’re both breathless, bent over with laughter. Angela flies out and around briefly, looking for signs of life or intruders. She spots a pair of deer moseying about to the north of the safehouse, but nothing else.

When she returns, Satya, ever the quick learner, has figured out how to dance in her skates; she combines them with her usual grace and poise to create a new dance that has Lena cheering loudly. She gives it a try of her own after Satya takes a small bow, but skates are not suited to the foot-stomping tap dance she tries to emulate.

In hindsight, the middle of the pond, despite having the most room, is probably not the best place to practice high-impact dancing.

Angela hears the crack and sees the panicked look on both of their faces seconds before the ice gives way. Without a second thought, she drops out of the tree, snaps open her wings and swoops to the middle of the pond where a hole has opened up, revealing murky churning water where her friends once stood. Lena surfaces first gasping, then recalls, only to immediately fall back in the water. Only this time, she stays standing and the water comes up to her chest. She breathes deeply before plunging back underneath to look for Satya.

Angela knows she can’t land safely but every second that passes, she reconsiders it. Three seconds drag by before Satya resurfaces sputtering with Lena following shortly.

“Satya, breathe! Breathe deep, luv!” Lena holds out her hands to brace her as she gasps for air, eyes wide. “It’s not very deep, I promise. We’re alright, just had a bit of a spill.”

Angela listens absentmindedly as Lena continues to reassure Satya, even as they start breaking ice to get to shore. She loathes to leave them but it takes less than a minute to fly to the woodpile and grab the ax. When she returns, they’ve made little progress.

Hovering carefully, she hacks at the ice at the shoreline until it creates a crack that reaches the struggling pair. She keeps hacking along its length until it’s much wider, ignoring the combined strain of the chopping and the hovering at once. Lena and Satya continue to wade toward the shore with agonizingly slow steps. She can see them both beginning to shiver.

“Lena! Satya! Please hurry; it’s not exactly warm out here. You need to get back inside!”

Neither of them expends the energy to respond; they all know they’re going as fast as they can. Finally, they reach shore. Angela immediately strips out of her winter coat, sweatshirt, sweater, and thermal, then helps the two strip out of their outer layers before replacing them with her own. Wing windows notwithstanding, any dry warm clothes are better than the heavy wet ones they had on. She’s wearing four layers so one goes on backward, the other goes on properly. Satya gets the thermal and coat as she was under longer and Lena, by virtue of her recall, seems to be coping much better with only the thinner tops.

“Start walking to the cabin, go!” She shoves them both up the bank and waits for them to reach the top before she takes off once more, carrying the ax with her. Angela arrives at the cabin in no time flat. She throws the wet clothes into a hamper and stokes the fire, dashing outside to grab an armful of wood. She throws half of it on, with some twigs and newspaper to help them catch. Then she runs back outside to see how close her friends are. By her judgment, fifty meters. She runs back in.

External warmth is important. She drags the mattresses off the bed and shoves them together in front of the fireplace. There’s a trunk full of extra blankets that she dumps on to the mattresses as well. Say what you will about Overwatch, but the safehouse is well prepared.

She lights the wood stove and puts the kettle on, rummaging in the cabinet for mugs and tea. She double secures the windows as she remembers the oncoming blizzard and runs outside for more wood. On her third trip, she spots Lena and Satya coming into the clearing. By the fourth armful, they’ve reached the door and she ushers them in ahead of her.

“I need to get those pants off of you both,” Angela announces. Lena immediately moves to peel hers off with more dexterity than she’d expect from someone who been outside in below freezing temperature. Satya, however, shakes her head; Angela immediately grabs her angled scissors from her first aid kit. At a nod from Satya, she begins to cut away the soaked garments.

Shortly after she starts the second pants leg, Lena pipes up. “Ange, what can I do?”

“Wrap yourself in a blanket and lay down. You're not invincible and I don’t need you stressing yourself out further,” she grits out, trying to finish the cut.

“I’m not much more than a tad chilly, I promise.” The kettle begins to whistle. “I’ll make tea, yeah? I can do that at least.”

Angela focuses on gently lifting Satya’s feet out of her boots and woolen socks and tosses them aside. She looks up to Satya whose teeth chatter as she tries to speak.

“Hush, don’t spend energy on speaking.” She pulls over a blanket and wraps it around her shaking form. She gets to her feet and grabs two more, swaddling her in blankets until she looks like very strange caterpillar stood in the middle of the cabin. Satya scowls at her wrappings but waits patiently.

Angela rummages in the trunk once more until she finds a towel for her hair, then wraps that up too.

“S-s-should have h-h-held us-” Satya stutters, squeezing her eyes shut. Angela hums, helping her sit down on the mattress. From their bags, she grabs an extra pair of wool socks and rolls them onto Satya’s feet; thankfully there’s no discoloration evident on her toes.

“It’s no fault of yours. Even the best-laid plans go awry,” Angela whispers, accepting the mug of tea from Lena with a nod. She helps Satya take sips from it until the mug is empty. Meanwhile, Lena sits nearby wrapped in a blanket and cradling a mug of her own. When Satya’s finished, she trades Angela the empty mug for a full one. Once she’s helped the architect lay down on her back, Angela takes a sip and turns to face Lena.

“Standard procedure for hypothermia aside, it still would have been nice if I could have got you both back sooner.” 

“You couldn’t have grabbed either one of us,” counters Lena, “so don’t start with that.”

She avoids Lena’s eyes and watches the fire instead. “Maybe so. I feel like it would have been a bit more useful if I could have though.”

“Angela, I’m fine,” Satya groans from her cocoon just as Lena growls, “We wouldn’t have been out there if I hadn’t suggested it.”

“Hush, the both of you. You fell into a frozen pond with freezing air temperatures. Satya, you are decidedly not fine. Lena, you are decidedly extraordinary, but you are still cold to the touch. I am not blaming anyone for this. I need you both to stay warm and get better. Lena, lay down.”

Rather than argue further, she flops down a foot away from Satya, then cranes her neck to look up at Angela.

“You joining us?”

She shakes her head, fanning her wings out in lieu of explanation. Satya picks up on her meaning immediately.

“They’re not much warmer than core temperature, they could be used through the blankets.”

“Core temperature, sure, but they’re much hotter than a heating pad, which is also not supposed to be used for hypothermia patients.” She watches both Lena and Satya’s faces fall and relents. “Perhaps when your temperatures have recovered and we are snowed in by this blizzard, you can use me as a blanket, but not a moment sooner. Now rest. I will wake you periodically until I am satisfied with your temperatures.”

With minimal whining, her patients lay back and she relaxes once more before realizing she is still wearing only a bra. She shrugs into a few layers and pulls a stool up to the mattress. Once she’s set a timer on her phone to wake them up, she settles in to watch the fire and the gentle rise and fall of the cocoons before her.

\- - -

Lena wakes on her own for the first time in hours, feeling much warmer than when she first lay down. The fire crackles behind her, explaining why her hair feels so stiff. She blinks at the fluffy wing above her, marveling at the way its golden hue is accented by the firelight. Between her and Satya, Angela snuggled tightly, her wings enveloping her charges in a warm embrace. There’s a small puddle of drool on her sleeve where she’s laying on her folded arms.

The fire burns quietly. Outside, the blizzard rages. Angela’s phone buzzes softly and she wakes. She doesn’t notice as Lena lays back and feigns sleep, watching out the corner of her eye as she silences the alarm, puts another log on the fire, and goes back to sleep.

Lena wriggles until she frees her hand and carefully grabs Angela’s still unlocked phone. She pulls up the camera app and angles the camera at the three of them. She flips through the pictures, picks her favorite, then sends it Ana. In the picture, Lena gives the camera her cheesiest smile. The shot captures not only Satya and Angela’s sleeping faces, but the wings spread over both Lena and Satya as well.

Seconds later, she receives a message back: _Looks like my baby bird has become a mother hen._

Lena giggles, replacing the phone to its rightful spot in front of Angela. She couldn’t agree more.


	15. The Language of the Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the weeks pass by, the residents of the Watchpoint Gibraltar learn a new language.  
> (A case study in wing language.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Terribly sorry for the long long wait, but I hope this 7k+ chapter is at least a little worth it! 
> 
> These drabbles are not chronological. You might notice references to other AtDD chapters, but they're sort of in a undefined space.
> 
> Further updates in the endnotes!

**Happy Flapping**

Fareeha would never admit to anyone that she’s falling asleep in this team meeting, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t having a hard time keeping her eyes open. It’s not _only_ that she’s already been listening to Angela rave about her newest field tech for the past two weeks, but well…

In her defense, she’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, having stayed up most of the night with Angela, talking until the sun came up about Overwatch and the future, each other, everything and nothing at all. The thought brings a small smile to her face, one that quirks her lips and crinkles her tattoo. She props her head up with one hand, elbow resting on the conference table, tuning back into Angela’s presentation.

“Therefore, rather than affect you one at a time, I will be able to connect to most of you within a small area at once.” Angel points at her projection, dragging the miniature of herself up above the simulation. She draws streams of golden light between the simulated teammates, all emanating from the projected Mercy’s staff. “Of course, I can’t do that all the time, but once or twice during an hour is the expected output.”

At this point in her presentation, Angela flicks her wings a few times. Fareeha sits up in surprise. It’s not an unfamiliar motion necessarily, but it’s not one she’d expect to see around the others. Of the many ways Angela expresses herself through her wings, it was, however, the most appropriate for the situation. Curious, Fareeha narrows her eyes at the pale wings. They’re slightly open, but still, poised, motionless in their usual presentation. Perhaps the movement was only a trick of the light. Either that or Fareeha needed a nap even more than she realized.

“Without the strain of flight on the Valkyrie systems, I’ve been able to optimize the power output to nanite production and maintenance, create a system that stabilizes them to the point of 98% self-sufficiency, not to mention I’ve created a more efficient strain of nanites for both functions, one that can switch functions in the blink of an eye.”

As Angela rearranges the projected team, Fareeha watches as her wings flutter lightening fast once more. It’s not a trick of the light; due to their speed, her wings’ motion is barely perceptible, but with wings so large, the motion is hardly sustainable. As Angela continues to talk, it happens about twice a minute and she shows no signs of stopping. Restraining a giggle, Fareeha glances around the table to see if anyone else notices.

Lena’s got one hand over her mouth, her gaze fiercely studying the wall. Winston appears to be doing his best to keep his grin to himself. Amused, Genji simply nods along. Satya catches Fareeha’s eye and shakes her head ever so slightly; a small smile is on her lips as well. Most of the room is keeping a lid on their reaction, but Jesse’s threatening to spoil the whole affair; Fareeha can see his shoulders shaking from across the conference table.

Ana clears her throat pointedly. Immediately the attention in the room shifts to her. She smiles politely at them, then addresses Angela.

“Have you considered whether there could be such a thing as a nanite oversaturation during such an event?”

Fareeha watches Angela’s reaction to this: wings still but perked, head tilted slightly to the left, lips pursed. She can tell the medic would expect Ana of all people to know the answer already.

“Well, they are self-limiting. They don’t cause overreactions unless there’s a great deal of exposure, mostly over long periods of times.” Here, she flicks her wings pointedly, clearly not realizing how they’re already been quivering. “And, of course, they can be strained from the blood using nanite dialysis, as I typically do when someone is experiencing an unneeded oversaturation…”

As Angela gets back into the swing of her explanations, her wings continue to flutter occasionally again. This time, no one reacts, not even Jesse, who keeps his sternest expression of interest on Angela’s presentation. Clearly, this is what Angela’s been wanting to show them, the fruits of her research- those endless hours in her office and the labs. Even if her tone is professional and confident, her wings betray her excitement as easily as a dog’s tail.

Fareeha slides her gaze back to her mother who’s quietly drumming her fingers on the table. Ana winks- smirks and quirks her head just so, one eye notwithstanding. The younger Amari sighs quietly and waits until Angela is finished. As her fiancée takes her seat next to her, Fareeha leans over, briefly resting her head on Angela’s.

“You’re so cute,” she murmurs. Angela has the good grace to simply blush and not ask why.

 

* * *

**Aggression**

To say Angela overachieved would be a massive understatement, but seeing her in sparring drills was a surprising improvement to her training regimen. Even though she’d never formally requested to be included, Ana’s grown used to her tagging along with Fareeha twice a week and sparring almost exclusively with her.

This morning, Ana rolls her eye and blows her whistle. Its shrill screech startles every pair out of their sparring, notably Angela and Fareeha. Angela sits up from where she’d pinned Fareeha, wings snapping shut from their spread position. She can see the couple’s embarrassed expressions all the way across the gym.

“You’re not being  _sneaky._ Angela, if you’re going to tackle, then  _stick to tackling._ ”

Angela opens her mouth to argue but is cut off by a loud guffaw from Jamison. “Regular pair of lovebirds! Can’t keep your hands off her, can ya?”

As she crosses the mats and approaches the pair, Ana grimaces at the junker but doesn’t contend his observation. Fareeha wrinkles her nose at her mother, chagrined, but unwilling to argue; she clearly knows she’ll lose that fight.

“Fareeha, time for you to spar with someone else. Zarya!” The Russian lets Genji up from where he’s been mercilessly pinned to the mats, despite the timeout. The pair exchanges a quick high-five before Genji bounds over to Angela. “Not quite, Genji; work with Fareeha. Zarya, you’ll be Angela’s partner.”

Ana ignores the few shocked gasps in the room. Everyone watches as Zarya crosses the room in a few confident strides. Flattening her feathers, Angela flares her wings in an impressive display as she holds her ground, tilting her chin up defiantly to hold the Russian’s gaze. Holding back shocked laughter, Genji claps a hand on Angela’s shoulder and side-steps to Fareeha instead. Ana watches her daughter’s jaw clench; the muscles in her temple jump as she considers Zarya.

“Do not worry, Amari.” The bodybuilder reaches out to tap fists with Angela before they both assume a squared stance; Angela pins her wings tightly behind her. “I will not break the good doctor. She can always fly away, yes?”

* * *

**Courtship Display**

Satya winces as she bites down on a lima bean that's still slightly frozen. She lifts a napkin to her lips and spits out the offensive vegetable, folding the napkin over it.  She should know better. Upma, even as quick as it _can_ be prepared, should not be rushed. On this morning though, she’d sought something familiar, something comforting, something guaranteed to ground her, to wake her up and erase some of the memory from yesterday’s disastrous mission. The tang of spices never fails to distract her, so she takes another bite.

The architect shifts the blanket tighter around her shoulders and draws her feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch, cradling the bowl in her hands. The kitchen and dining room are too quiet with only the idling hum of appliances to fill the silence. Satya sighs softly, remembering for yet another time that her headphones are back in her room, abandoned in favor of quickly escaping her thoughts and getting breakfast.

Upon hearing nearby giggling, Satya fixes her posture, straightening her back and arranging her folded legs into a more comfortable position. Her usual breakfast companions are late, talking quietly to each other. Angela’s bright blue eyes spot Satya in an instant and she waves, blushing as Fareeha snuggles deeper into her wings from behind.

“A good morning to you, Ibis!” Angela chirps, breaking off into a squeal as Fareeha nuzzles her ear. Fareeha looks up at Satya and smiles.

“Morning, Satya. Sorry for the fuss. I had to push _someone_ out of bed this morning.  Even though _I_ was the one who should have been sleeping in, of the two of us.” As she talks, Angela wiggles out of her embrace and makes a beeline for one of the refrigerators. Fareeha crosses the kitchen tiles and leans over the breakfast bar, flashing a bright smile at Satya.

“You want a smoothie to go with that?” When Satya simply raises an eyebrow, she goes on. “While we were gone, the word is Jesse went shopping and got about ten pounds of frozen fruit and Mei got a dozen mangos and four whole pineapples.”

“I told you it’s not just that! There are strawberries, blueberries, papaya, kiwi and-” Angela calls out, head buried in the refrigerator as she rummages through the groceries.

“Basically, there’s a lot of fruit,” Fareeha finishes with a roll of her eyes. “It’s taking up a lot of space. And smoothies are a good team breakfast.”

“I hadn’t checked the refrigerator yet,” Satya says, raising her bowl slightly. “I only needed the freezer and the cabinet to make breakfast.”

“That doesn’t look like a lot.” Fareeha peers over the counter.

Satya shifts her gaze from Fareeha’s concerned one and down to the bowl of cooling upma in her lap. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” When she gets no response to that, she hazards a glance back at the Egyptian, who’s frowning.

“Did you sleep?” Fareeha asks softly enough that Angela doesn’t hear it over her noisy preparations. Satya winces at the question. “I know the flight was long and everything didn’t go so we-”

“I would like a smoothie if you please. Mangos and strawberries only.” When Fareeha begins to pout, she purses her own lips in dismay. “I have spent enough time thinking of yesterday. I am quite alright.”

Satya can tell from Fareeha’s silence that she doesn’t exactly believe this. She stirs her upma with her spoon twice before she begins to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she’d been too harsh. Without taking her eyes off her food, she adds, “But I appreciate your concern, thank you.”

“Okay. Of course. I...anytime.” Fareeha’s voice falters for a moment. “I’ll just be _mango-ing_ then.”

Satya’s head snaps up and she glares at Fareeha. Fareeha grins so wide she looks as if she might split her face. Satya opens her mouth to chide her, but Fareeha’s too quick.

“Hopefully your smoothie will be _berry_ satisfying.” The corner of Satya’s mouth twitches as Fareeha throws her head back in laughter; Angela groans, hefting a handful of grapes as if she’s prepared to pelt Fareeha with them.

“‘Reeha, quit torturing Satya and help me find enough cups for everyone!”

Snickering, Fareeha leaves the breakfast bar and goes to help her fiancée. Satya picks up her bowl and blanket and carries them to the breakfast bar stools. She resists the urge to put her head down on the counter, trying to at least pretend she is not exhausted.

While Angela washes and cuts up various fruits, Fareeha’s making quick work of a stack of sticky notes, consulting her phone and scribbling down a list, presumably of ingredients and names, and setting a glass atop each one. She notices Satya watching and shrugs as if to say _hey, it works._

Content on the stool, Satya allows herself to play with her constructions idly, letting the couple’s banter fill the silence. As usual, she finds her gaze drawn to Angela’s wings. Far from the clumsiness of a couple of weeks ago, Angela maneuvers the kitchen with flawless grace, skipping between fridges and countertops. Fareeha exists so effortlessly in the space that’s left behind, ducking and whirling to avoid their reach. Sometimes, Angela stretches out a wing to brush Fareeha as she passes by; other times, Fareeha reaches out and scratches for a brief moment. It’s a beautiful waltz between the two of them. Their happiness is contagious; Satya finds herself smiling.

Hana walks in, still in her pajamas. Satya hides a chuckle behind her hand as Angela correctly assumes that Hana didn’t sleep the night before. Fareeha just laughs, rummaging in the appliance cabinet and digging out the ancient blender. Angela ends her lecture by placing a bowl of pineapple chunks in front of the tired gamer, who takes it over to the den couch and turns on the television. As the drone of a news program fills the silent spaces between the clinking of preparations and intermittent conversation, Satya finishes her upma and slides her blanket off her shoulders. She folds it into a square, then sets it on her stool.

It’s a feat to weave herself between the dance of Angela and Fareeha, but she manages to get to the sink and wash her dishes without any trouble. She stands in the kitchen, considering the smoothie chaos for a moment, before deciding there’s not much else to be done. Fareeha’s even started on a bowl of muffin mix, strawberry if she’s judging correctly by the artificial scent wafting from the bowl. Angela’s begun blending the first batch of smoothie: a kiwi, papaya and banana combination that makes an odd yellow color.

“Would you like any tea?” Satya asks finally, grabbing the tea kettle and filling it with water from the sink.

“Oh yes, absolutely,” says Angela and Fareeha nods, then loudly repeats the question for Hana who shouts back that, “Tea doesn’t go with smoothies, you nerds!”

Satya just rolls her eyes and takes three mugs out of the cabinet and sets them on the counter adjacent to the stove. An opinion. A wrong one perhaps, but an opinion nonetheless. Tea goes with _everything._

Once each mug has an infuser with the desired tea leaves, Satya leans against the wall near the stove, waiting for the water to boil and staying out of the way as her friends prepare a host of smoothies and muffins. Angela turns away from the island to inspect the drying rack, pointing to the bowl Satya washed. “Is this clean?”

When Satya nods, she carries it back to the island, fills it with mango chunks and a fork, and pushes it into Satya’s hands. Rather than argue, she thanks her softly and tucks into the fruit, savoring the sweet contrast to her other breakfast. The blender rumbles as it mows through the next batch of fruit chunks; Angela adds some orange juice to help it along. She pours some smoothie into a few cups then begins preparing more fruit.

“Fareeha?” Angela stops coring strawberries and examines the pulp she’s removed with a knife. “Are you sure these strawberries are good? Are they out of season? Look at the middle. There’s so much white flesh left.”

“Growing seasons? What decade are you in?” Fareeha rounds the corner of the island to examine the cartons of strawberries.

“You know what I mean…”

Satya tunes out the conversation, for the most part, turning instead to watch the tendrils of steam rise from the kettle’s spout. It’s not until a sharp movement catches her eye that she redirects her attention.

Focused on Fareeha, Angela flicks her wings forward in an uncharacteristically enthusiastic motion, spread to a mere quarter of their wingspan. Her feathers puff and she repeats the motion several times as she advances on her girlfriend, reaching up to feed her a strawberry. Fareeha, overcome with laughter, clearly can’t stop laughing long enough to eat the offered fruit, backing away until she’s trapped in a corner by the advancing blonde. It’s a public display of affection that’s ripe for disaster; Satya resists the urge to sigh when another teammate walks into the kitchen.

“Sweet Jesus,” Jesse groans as he walks into the kitchen, only to notice the obvious: Angela flush against Fareeha’s chest, wings flicked forward in an affectionate display, a strawberry pressed to the taller woman’s lips. “You two have a room! Why don’t you use it?”

Angela takes a step back, an apology already on her lips. Not to be denied, Fareeha leans down, eats the strawberry in a single bite, and tugs Angela back toward her. Then, she plants a chaste kiss right on her lips, complete with an audible _smooch_. While Angela shuts her wings and stammers, Fareeha simply pokes her tongue out at Jesse.

“‘Ree! Ain’t no need to claim your girlfriend; everyone knows she’s yours. I’m only here for my smoothie.” He throws his hands into the air and rolls his eyes. “Why do I feel older than them?”

Satya blinks, realizing that Jesse is indeed addressing her from across the kitchen. “Well, it has been said love is for children…”

“Saty!” Fareeha whines, just as the kettle begins whistling. “Whose side are you on?”

“The correct one?” Satya’s nose twitches as everyone bursts into laughter. Miffed, she turns back to pouring water into each mug. Was that not the truth?

It’s far too early for this.

* * *

**Temperature Regulation**

While they wait for Lena to return from the airport’s control room with news about their transport, Satya glances over at Angela, then takes a second look. After spending the night with her wings spread over Lena and Satya, it’s a wonder she isn’t complaining of cramping. The older woman can only be described as hunched; her wings form a protective shell around her, shielding her from the bitter winds. After all, the little lean-to on the edge of the tarmac does little to protect them from the frigid blizzard temperatures.

“Angela?”

Her response is too muffled by the wings to hear. Her feathers are ruffled but upon closer inspection, it appears her feathers have risen a few centimeters, giving her wings a puffy appearance. Satya moves in front of her and speaks directly to the slight gap between the two wings

“Are you alright?”

“I got cold.” Angela sniffles, pulling her left wing back slightly so she can look at Satya. She brings a hand up to rub at her reddened nose before shutting her wing cocoon again.

Satya hides her smile and says no more.

* * *

**Exhaustion**

Lena always tries not to stare. After all, she doesn’t enjoy people staring at her accelerator, even if it is bulky and glows bright blue. The same could be said for Angela’s wings; they’re huge and pale, often flicking in a way that catches the wandering gaze. However, there’s one truly acceptable way to apologize for staring and that is acknowledgment.

So when Angela picks her head out of her coffee cup and catches Lena frowning at her wings, Lena doesn’t shy away from being caught. She adopts her sternest expression and directs it at the good doctor.

“You need to go to sleep, luv.”

Angela squints blearily at her, then lifts her mug in response. Lena rolls her eyes at the bold print “self-medicating” decal on the mug. She pushes her own mug of tea aside and leans over the kitchen island to take a better look.

Sure enough, Angela’s wings are completely splayed out to either side of her, loosely held up, if at all. For once, the sheer massiveness of the wings is _extremely_ evident, as even half-folded, they span a good portion of the kitchen’s length. The feathers look reasonably in order, but she can see where they’re dragging against the tile.

“Angie, you’re melting.” Lena quirks an eyebrow when Angela just grimaces. “Come on, we both need to go to bed.”

Lena watches as Angela straightens up. The expression that crosses the blonde’s face when her wings move to close at the same time is a masterpiece. She freezes in place, looking truly scandalized, blue eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in confusion. She glares at her left wing, suspended in place. Slowly, she brings her wings into a proper resting position. Lena snorts, trying to cover it up with a cough.

“Don’t make that face! You’ve been drooping since you came in and that coffee won’t do anything.” Before Angela can protest, Lena reaches over and pulls Angela’s mug toward herself. “Look me in the eyes and tell me this is going to help.”

Through her bangs, Angela shoots a glare at Lena. “You pour that down the drain and I _will_ end you.”

“Now, _there’s_ an idea,” says Lena, grabbing both mugs and ignoring the medic’s borderline feral growl as she makes her way to the sink, then reaches for the cabinet above it. She can hear Angela drumming her fingers on the countertop in frustration

“Do any of you ever stop to think that all this babying is unnecessary? I’m thirty-seven; I can take care of myself!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lena says, sing-song voice carrying over the hum of the kitchen appliances. She dumps the coffee into a clean thermos and sets the mug in the sink. “Besides, you baby everyone else anyway. How about this? After you go to bed, I’m going to put this outside of Fareeha’s door. You can get it after you’ve slept and drink it in the morning.”

Lena settles the thermos in the crook of her elbow and gulps down the rest of her tea before tossing the teabag in the trashcan and placing her mug in the sink next to Angela’s. There’s an abrupt screech behind her: stool legs scraping against the tile.

“Fine. You’re right. We should turn in for the night.” Angela pauses. “Race me.”

Lena looks over her shoulder at Angela’s mischievous smile, her half-spread wings, her stool pushed back an arm’s length from the island. “Don’t get sore because I’m dragging you to bed. You know you’re not supposed to be flying indoors.”

“I suppose we already know I’m faster.” Her wings flick outward, then rustle as she folds them once more. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to race me either.”

“Hold on a mo’-”

“No, it’s alright. Never thought I’d see _you_ back down to a challenge.” Angela stands, shaking her wings out as she does. Lena shifts her grip on the thermos; her accelerator whines softly as it ramps up, awaiting her command.

“You know, there’s at least four corners between you and the dorms, right?” When Angela only raises an eyebrow, Lena continues. “You’re _shite_ at sharp corners.”

Angela doesn’t say anything but she watches Lena toe off her slippers. As she leans down to grab them in her open hand, Lena warns, “If you crash into anything-”

“I know how to fix myself.”

“I was talking about the walls.” Lena heaves a sigh, tightening her grip on the thermos and her slippers, wiggling her toes on the linoleum tiles. She’s probably going to regret this, but there’s only one way to live: in the moment. “Athena, start a countdown from five, would you?”

* * *

 

**Content**

At precisely ten minutes after six in the morning, Fareeha Amari’s room begins to echo with an alarm. The noise starts softly then grows in volume, causing the couple on the bed to stir with varying degrees of unhappiness. Angela grumbles as Fareeha shifts, trying to keep her girlfriend in her grasp.

“What was that?” Fareeha murmurs, sleepily reaching out for her beeping phone. In lieu of a response, Angela snuggles tighter against her back. Trapped by her sheets and girlfriend, Fareeha squirms and whines, trying in vain to reach her phone. “Ange, please, I can’t move.”

Angela’s grip loosens just enough that Fareeha can reach her phone, but the second it’s in her fingers, the blonde resumes her limpet’s grip, wrapping her arms, legs, and one wing around her girlfriend.

“Do you plan on getting up anytime soon?” Having silenced the alarm, Fareeha turns her head to look at the ceiling and is confronted with a very warm wing. She huffs in amusement. “Or letting me up?”

“You’ve been away for _days._ I’ve been working to death. Now that we’re together, just…let me be selfish for a little while longer? Please?”

“I don’t _have_ to go running today.” Sighing softly, Fareeha entangles her hand with the pale one that rests across her stomach. She watches amused as the soft feathers puff up, tickling her nose. Fareeha uses her free hand to scratch gently at the wing above her. “We can stay until breakfast, okay?”

Angela’s breath is feather-light as she presses kisses to the back of Fareeha’s neck and the space between her shoulder blades. She shivers, despite the warmth rolling off Angela’s wing.

The relief in Angela’s voice is palpable as she murmurs, “Thank you.”

Fareeha simply squeezes her hand tighter.

* * *

 

**Defensive**

McCree had hardly radioed in his position and the severity of his injuries before Mercy dropped into the back alley he’s huddled in. Rather than the familiar gentle descent, Mercy flaps once before her boots hit the ground, crouching to absorb the impact. Her wings collapse into their folded position; he ducks to avoid the sweep of the feathers as she pins them back. Wary, Mercy casts her gaze down the open-end of the alley before turning to McCree.

“I’m here.” Mercy frowns; he can see the disappointment in her eyes, even through her shaded goggles. “Though I do wonder why you are so far away…”

Pointing her staff at him, she crouches in the blind spot created by industrial alley dumpster and calibrates the caduceus before activating it. He groans softly as the worst of his wounds begin to close. McCree digs a metal finger into the wound in his shoulder, hissing softly as he plucks the crumpled bullet out of the healing sinew and skin. Then he lays back against the alley’s brick wall, savoring the relief and the moment before he’ll be battle ready once more.

“Good ol’ doc, always patching me up, aren’t y-?”

“Hush!” Mercy hisses, one hand flying to her pistol as the other maintains a steady grip on her staff, continuing to suffuse McCree in a soft golden glow. He cocks his head, listening closely.

“No, no, I swear I heard something. Lookin' now.” There’s an indistinct burst of radio static as someone answers the unfamiliar voice. McCree’s more focused on the sound of a safety being released to really listen to much else.

McCree unholsters his pistol, quietly checking the chamber and reloading, all before realizing how Mercy’s wings are fluffed and flared like a frightened cat. It’d be a funny sight if it weren’t for the fact that she’s betraying their position.

“Holy _shit!”_ The disbelief in the voice is palpable, but the medic’s perplexed expression reveals that she doesn’t realize the _reason_ for the exclamation.

“Mercy!” McCree whispers, bringing his hands together in a frantic squishing motion. The speed in which she flattens her wings against her back once more is admirable, but the damage has already been done.

They share a baffled look as the approaching person kicks a can, stumbles, and curses again. “Hey! Come out with your hands up! _Los Muertos_ takes prisoners, but only if you cooperate.”

McCree stands up, gesturing for Mercy to stay put. He keeps Peacekeeper at his side and holds a hand out the young man in the alleyway, taking a few steps past the dumpster to distract from the woman hidden behind it. “Why y’ain’t more than a kid. What’re you doing out here with these troublemakers?”

“You don’t have wings.” The young man lowers his gun slightly. He looks like Los Muertos in dress only with glowing body paint and a scared expression, mismatched clothes, and a trembling gun. “Am I going crazy? There wasㄧthere was definitelyㄧ”

Before McCree can answer, there’s a pained hiss from behind the dumpster. Both he and the kid startle as Mercy emerges.

She draws herself up to her full height and flares her wings, displaying them in all of their glory. Her body’s doused in a familiar golden light and she holds one hand behind her back. She outstretches her other hand toward the boy, who drops his gun in fear.

“Holy shit,” he squeaks, stepping backward, eyes glued to Mercy’s face. “Are you an angel?”

“I am a _warning_.” Mercy intones and it’s all McCree can do to play the role of awed bystander, rather than bend over laughing at her dramatics. “I am a warning to _you_ , _Carlos._ This is not the path you should follow. Choose another or suffer the consequences.”

Carlos gapes at her. When he doesn’t move, Mercy simply turns her wrist as if to unleash some heavenly power and he finally dashes out of the alley, leaving the gun behind.

“Very well then,” says Mercy, finally bringing the staff out from behind her back and deactivating it. McCree eyes the bloody shard of glass in her revealed hand.

“Quite the performance.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully, putting the pieces together. “You stabbed yourself so you could glow for that piece of blasphemy?”

“Preferable to shooting a frightened child.” She tosses the glass into the dumpster and levels a glare at him. “And I was far from blasphemous. I said I was a warning, not an angel.”

“Carlos though?”

“Some of us didn’t spend half our lives around deafening gunfire.” She taps her ear and makes to take off. “I could hear the radio.”

McCree can feel himself bristling, even if he doesn’t have the wings to show it as easily. “Hold up-”

“I _do_ have other teammates to attend to, Jesse.” But she stays crouched, wings ready to take off, waiting for him to finish his thought. He steps back out of reach of her wingspan.

“That whole productionㄧ? C’mon, Mercy, you’re extra, but even that was a hell of a lot.”

“Perhaps he reminded me of some old stories someone used to tell about a scrawny kid in a gang.” She smirks. “Now get back to rest of the strike team.”

Chuckling, McCree holds onto his hat as she takes off, watching her fly until she’s out of sight. After taking a moment to unload the discarded gun and snap it underfoot, he does as he’s been told.

* * *

**Restless**

“Ange. Remind me again why you’ve gathered us here today on this _lovely_ afternoon. Not that I don’t love suddenly being ordered to shower in the gym showers, but you know.” Fareeha says, staring at the shower head above her. She closes her eyes and squeezes a dollop of shampoo onto her hair and begins working it into her scalp. “Humor me.”

 

_Being that her door is already cracked, lending to better airflow between her open window and the hallway, Satya can hear the soft knock on her door perfectly fine. When she gets up and pulls the door open further, she finds none other than Angela, shifting from foot to foot and looking perplexed._

_“Satya, would you mind helping me with my wings?”_

_“Of course not,” Satya puts down her book and pulls up her sleeves, gesturing to the edge of the bed. She flexes her fingers as Angela takes a seat on the bed and lets her wings hang over the edge. Satya then settles her fingers in Angela’s right wing. Angela twitches violently at the contact, wing flapping back toward Satya, nearly knocking her on her bum. She manages to keep her balance, but it is no easy feat, even for her._

_“Angela? Are you alright?”_

_Angela coughs, clearly embarrassed at such a knee-jerk reaction. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. They’re just so itchy today.”_

 

“If only you’d more than passably wondered, _why_ they were itchy?” Satya groans, scouring at her skin with a loofah. Her toes curl, reminding her of how unhappy she is with the unfamiliar tile underfoot. She can hear Fareeha’s discontented grumbling in the shower stall next door.

“I thought I was  _molting,_ ” Angela shoots back, her voice distant and echoic.

 

_“Ange, are you okay?” Fareeha mutters as Angela writhes and wiggles against her for the millionth time that night. Angela sighs and untangles her limbs from Fareeha’s body._

_“I can’t sleep, sorry. I may as well get some work don-.”_

_“Hey, hey,” Fareeha tugs her wrist and Angela allows herself to flop back down onto the bed. “You don’t have to leave. You’re just really restless. I want to help if I can.”_

_“Could you scratch them? I must have gotten into something, ragweed or the like. I never considered any allergies affecting them as well.” Angela sighs heavily. “What if I’m molting? Satya mentioned that could be a possibility, but I just can’t see how that would work. And anyway, why now? It’s nowhere close to winter...”_

_Fareeha waits until Angela trails off and rolls over, then buries her hands into Angela’s wings. She chuckles as Angela squirms and sighs in relief. The blonde can’t resist reaching around to scratch at the undersides._

_“After everything I’ve gone through, I’d better not be dying,” Angela gripes, shifting to reach a better angle._

 

“It’s not my fault we have navy blue sheets, Fareeha!” Angela lays in a shallow bath next door, her huge wings cramped and barely submerged into what little water that’s not trapped between her feathers. She throws an arm over her face. Two missions understaffed because of her curiosity. _Stupid._

“And what exactly does that have to do with anything?” Satya says, her exasperated voice carrying well into the adjacent room where Angela lays.

“I would have noticed sooner if I could have seen the blood on the sheets!” She lets her head fall back onto the tile as hard as she dares. The itching has barely subsided, but she refuses to scratch. The medicine in the water will do its work.

“You have bright blonde wings, Ange.” Fareeha snorts. “My sheets were _not_ the problem.”

 

_“Angela, I think you need a flea bath.” Leaning on the kitchen door jamb, Ana watches in amusement as Angela stops squirming immediately. The medic cradles her salad bowl in her hands. Ana can see the reddened marks on her face where she’s been scratching. “Either that or you’ve got chicken pox.”_

_“I’ve already had the chickenpox and I do_ not _have fleas,” Angela says, clutching the bowl tighter. She stabs some lettuce and brings it to her mouth, eyes on Ana as the sniper scrutinizes her._

_“You’ve certainly been scratching at your wings, I can see that. They’re a mess.” Ana tuts and watches Angela ruffle her feathers defensively. “So maybe not fleas, but bird fleas.”_

_“Birds don’t get_ fleas _, Ana. They get...mites….” Angela trails off in thought. She places the bowl on the counter, then steps away from it. Behind her, her wings snap shut. “Oh no.”_

_Ana raises an eyebrow._

_“Fareeha. The bed. Oh no, even Satya. I must have gotten them from the crag martins.” She looks up at Ana in horror. When Ana doesn’t respond, she continues. “They’re the birds my wings are from! I visited the cliffs the other day; I just wanted to see them up close! I didn’t think I’d get_ mites _! I wasn’t even there that long!”_

_Ana gestures to the doorway. “Well, Dr. Ziegler, that’s a medical issue, now isn’t it?”_

_“Ana, I’m a nanosurgeon, not a veterinarian!” Angela scurries out for the kitchen; the echo of Ana’s chuckles follow her all the way to med bay._

 

 _“_ Was it necessary to seize all of the bedding in both of our rooms?” Satya pushes her hair out of her face, turning her back to the stream of water. “I could have easily done so myself.”

“The mites sleep during the day! It was my best chance to drown them. You think I’m going to let them _live_ now that I know what’s going on?”

“Alright, Strike Commander Ziegler. We understand. It’s the Bird Mite Crisis.” Fareeha tries and fails to stifle a snort.

“You can keep laughing,” Angela growls, exasperation dripping from her every word. “But I bet you’ll sleep soundly tonight.”

 

_“Athena!”_

_“Yes, Dr. Ziegler?” The AI’s sensor sweeps toward Angela as she slams her office door behind her. It tracks the medic as she swipes her tablet off her desk and moves to the middle of the room._

_“I need you to scan my wings for recent injuries.” As she pulls up various web pages on her tablet, she spreads her wings so Athena can scan every inch of them. Athena flashes her sensors as Angela speeds through articles about crag martins and avian parasites._

_“There appear to have been numerous minuscule incisions recently.”_

_“Bite marks.” She pulls her wings in, flicking them irritably._

_“It appears so.” Athena pauses at the high-pitched noise of displeasure that escapes the back of Angela’s throat. “My research indicates that there are numerous proven treatments for mites.”_

_“They’re eating me alive,” Angela hisses, fluffing and flaring her wings._

_“To be more accurate, they are drinking your blood in small amounts during the night. However, you have an adequate supply of Ivermectin in both topical and oral forms, Dr. Ziegler. That will take care of the mites, especially if administered at human doses.” Athena waits for a response. When there is none, she adds, “Bird mites of all species are completely curable in humans and birds.”_

_“Athena, I need a list of every place I’ve been in the past two days. Please send it to me when it’s done. I need to go get some supplies.” On her tablet, Angela tiles an article titled “Bird Mite Treatment” next to a document of blank bullet points. She marches out of her office. “I am going to get rid of these pests once and for all.”_

 

Long after the showers stop running,  Angela looks over to the doorway where she can see a shadow through the plastic curtain.

“Are you decent?” Fareeha asks.

“I’m wearing my bathing suit, yes.”

Clad in a pair of soft shorts, a tank, and a towel around her shoulders, Fareeha peeks into the room, then pads over to the edge of the meter-deep bath to peer down at where Angela lay. She can’t help but feel a little exposed, laying flat in the bottom of the bath with her wings splayed open. Satya pads in afterward, wrapping her hair in a towel and wearing a silken robe.

“I’m sorry I gave you both mites,” Angela says softly. Fareeha takes a seat on the edge and lets her feet dangle over the side. Satya sneezes and picks up one foot from the cold floor. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Apology accepted, but it’s not as if you did it on purpose. We’ve showered as requested. We’ll wash our clothes. All is well.” Angela watches as Satya expertly twists her hair towel into a bun. Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“Satya’s right. _You’re_ more susceptible to the mites than we are.” Fareeha kicks her legs thoughtfully. “We’re not the ones with wings.”

“Is that so? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t be petulant, Angela.”

“Sorry.” At Satya’s reprimand, Angela lapses into pouting. She shudders and reaches out to scratch idly at her wings. The surface of the water is dotted with the minuscule corpses of mites and tinged with the light pink of diluted blood. “My solution seems to be working. I mixed ivermectin into the shampoo and I’ve ordered a mite spray for our carpets. With all the bedding in the wash, we should be well on the way to getting rid of them. They can’t breed on humans, so Satya you should be fine. Fareeha, it’s your room I’m worried about. If just one gets back on me, we’ll be doing this every week.”

“ _Our_ room. We’ll sort it out. Us getting a few bites and being itchy isn’t an issue. Really, Ange, it’s what we get for shoving our faces in your wings all the time.”

“I do not _sho-”_ Satya cuts off abruptly when Fareeha nudges her leg. “Angela, it’s _fine._ We were only teasing you.”

“I know, Satya. I just wish this hadn’t happened.” She fumbles for the plug, reaching through her feathers to find the chain and yanking it upward until the water begins to drain. The draining water takes with it both its warmth and support leaving Angela feeling like a washcloth after a bath: soggy, cold and discarded. “Athena, start the lower jets in the southern gym bath at 32°C.”

As the water burbles up below her, rinsing and draining in equal measure, Angela sighs in relief, wiggling her wings into the warm gushing spray. It takes some doing, but she manages to roll over and rinse the undersides directly as well. When she’s finished and the jets are off once more, she stands up, coming to waist height with the rim of the bath and face to face with Fareeha.

“Not still itchy, I hope?”

“Not in the slightest,” says Angela smiling, no longer feeling as bedraggled as she looks. Fareeha takes her hand and helps her out of the tub. Angela stretches her arms up, trying to work out the cramps from laying near-motionless in the bath for a half hour. Eyes widening, Satya takes several steps back and Angela doesn’t understand why until Fareeha starts sputtering.

“I just took a shower, thanks, Ange. Encore.” She shoots Satya a playful glare, wiping water off her face. “How did you know she was going to do that?” _That,_ Angela realizes, being suddenly shaking her wings like a wet dog.

Satya just laughs brightly; she doesn’t offer an answer. Angela shakes a wing over the bath in a deliberate attempt to dislodge any extra water, but the involuntary shaking seems to have gotten most of the excess. To hide her embarrassment, she shakes her other wing as well, then folds them loosely. Both Fareeha and Satya regard her with equally amused expressions.

“Would either of you mind helping me dry off properly?”

“Not at all.”

“Never.”

* * *

**Mantling**

Angela flares her wings out to the sides arcing them high and wide, letting the shadow fall over Fareeha and the width of the bed. Her fiancée’s eyes widen at the sight and even in the shadows, Angela can see the blush spreading over her cheeks. Angela chuckles and watches Fareeha tear her eyes away from her wings and refocus on her face.

“Can you believe I was ever worried you wouldn’t like them?” She repositions to properly straddle her, then leans over until their bodies are flush against one another. She folds her wings, cocooning them both inside

She watches Fareeha gulp, watches the quirk in her lips as she tries and fails to come up with a witty response. Angela tucks her face into the hollow of Fareeha’s neck and breathes deeply.

“My wings are more expressive than I am sometimes. I know you all think I don’t notice,” she murmurs. She can feel Fareeha shift below her and a hand lands in her hair stroking gently.

“I think Mom maims anyone who mentions it to you. It’s not exactly polite.”

Angela only hums in response, then presses several gentle kisses to Fareeha’s skin.

“But you don’t notice _everything,_ ” Fareeha ventures, trailing her fingers along Angela’s sides until she completely collapses on top of her, giggling.

“I notice everything that I notice,” the doctor amends breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows and leaning down to nuzzle her girlfriend’s nose. The bed dips as Fareeha sits up a bit to meet her.

“And you don’t know what you don’t know,” replies Fareeha, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Though I could tell you if you wanted. I’m sure Satya could, too.”

“There are some mysteries I’d rather let stand,” Angela says with a smirk. “Where’s the fun in me admitting to which ones I’m conscious of?”

Fareeha smiles. “Fair point. Give me a freebie though. What about this one right now?

“I might be doing this on purpose.” Angela settles onto Fareeha’s chest and wraps her arms and wings around her. “What better way to remind you how much I love you than to cover you completely and hold you tight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and patience these past few months! I really appreciate y'all! Life's been, well, life. But! Taking that unexpected hiatus gave me a chance to really map out where I want the rest of this series to go! I hope you guys enjoyed this foray into how Angela's wings create a new set of mannerisms for her. It's something I've been wanting to write for quite a while!
> 
> As for the chapter itself, I've taken some liberties with various birds to give Angela her own set of cues and action. It's highly context dependent, of course, but I hope this helps inform y'all in the future. It was a lot of fun to write!


	16. The Care and Keeping of Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s just_ so much _to understand and adapt to. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that I forget. And not that I would ever admit it, but it’s tiring. Above all else, I'm the one who has to live with the wings._
> 
>  A soft & tired piece featuring the Angela that few ever see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Very Big thank you to IrisSteth for helping me work out these logistics way back when. <3
> 
> Quite a few people have asked about logistics about the wings, so this focuses on some of the active duty challenges Angela faces, as well as how she cleans them when they're just a bit dirty (i.e. not covered in mites). She's a tired birb and I wish things were easier for her.
> 
> (This update time is not typical. Happy Valentine's Day though!)

The exhaustion is not new.

Logically, this makes perfect sense. Though Angela’s stayed out of the field for nearly two months, trained everyday since her wings could hold her weight, tended to them daily, and stuck to her grueling diet, the baseline exhaustion is _very_ familiar. At any given moment, a warm bed and Fareeha’s soft embrace sounds better than harsh lights, cold labs, research papers and bitter coffee. All the brushing, petting, and massaging in the world doesn’t change that, despite satisfying the near-constant ache for affection; the exhaustion is separate beast and never as easily quelled.

So suffice to say, when Angela drags herself into the privacy of the empty med bay and finally lets her wings droop to the floor, the exhaustion she feels is beyond the usual aches and prickles. The mission was unexpectedly short, having ended on account of a very decisive firefight with a smaller-than-expected group of anti-omnic extremists. Once, Angela might have sighed with relief for the skirmish having ended so soon, but a _quick_ battle means three hours minimum. 

Even more than before, her place is in the air, with or without Fareeha there with her. And though she’s tried to rectify the difficulty of hovering, especially with wings built for agility, via some clever Valkyrie engineering, there’s no escaping the fact that it is no longer her strong point. Not that anyone needs to know that. And while she'd been relieved early from this mission and dropped off, being back the watch point early is a problem in itself.

As her boots clack across the med bay tiles, Athena turns on the lights without being asked; Angela murmurs her thanks. She yawns, trying to cover her mouth with the back of her hand while still gripping the Caduceus and attempting to key into her office with the other. The security pad accepts her thumbprint, but the key misses the lock several times before Athena interjects.

“For the purposes of dual verification, you may always use your phonetic passcode, Dr. Ziegler.”

Her brain takes its time to process that. Angela pauses and stares at the ring of keys in her hand for a long moment before responding, “Geneva-six-uranium-A- _Streichholzschächtelchen_ \- Z-twelve-sixty-carousel-fifty-two-Athabaskan.”

“Welcome back, Dr. Ziegler,” Athena says serenely as the door unlocks and the office lights slowly brighten. Angela makes a beeline for her suit bay, beginning to key in the codes before Athena interrupts once more.

“Dr. Ziegler, I have yet to perform your pre-disengagement scans.”

Angela clenches her fists, shutting her eyes with a groan. She takes a moment to exhale slowly before turning on heel, stalking across the room, and unlocking her desk drawer. She tosses her staff and pistol on the consultation chair before her desk, then grabs a clean exam sheet. Athena hums quietly, but otherwise enters Dory protocol as asked and proceeds with the standard scans. Angela aches as she stands still, holding her wings in a folded position, rather than letting them continue to droop. Instead of taking her notes immediately, she has Athena pause the holographic scans while she disengages properly.

She sighs as the anti-grav field immediately takes the stress off of her wings, gently supporting them as the automated system removes her armor, including the fitted braces at the base of her wings. She removes her halo, interface chips, and goggles and places them on their stands. The robotic arms remove the last bit of armor, down to her boots and shin guards. She steps out of the field and stretches, starting with her arms and torso, then working down to her legs and out to her wings. Even though she stretched _extensively_ on the transport back, she stretches each bare wing out one at a time, then slowly flaps them back and forth. Their wind stirs up the air of her office, but Angela has since learned; everything on her desk has its own paperweight.

She reaches over her shoulder and unfastens her flight suit, deft fingers undoing the velcro and buttons around the base of her wings. The cool air hits the small scapular feathers hidden by the suit, damp with sweat; she shivers as both goosebumps and feathers rise in response. The undersuit peels off easily, puddling around her waist as she wriggles out of it. She tosses it into the chute to be cleaned.

She takes a moment to admire the reassembled Valkyrie 2.0, complete with wing guards and the artificial tail feathers attached to the back panels of her torso armor, rather than the previous decorative loincloth. It’s not the first time she's wondered if she should add more armor for the wings, but the firm weight of them behind her reminds her why not. Content to allow the suit bay to continue its maintenance unseen, Angela keys in the code to render it hidden once more.

Rather than the blank wall from a couple months ago, the wall reassembles into a full length mirror stretching along the wall. Angela stretches up with her arms and out with her wings, rising up on tiptoe until she can almost see all of her feathers. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, they almost seem pure silver, but then again, so does her hair. The pale blonde color only stands out against the metal and wood of the file cabinets and desks behind her. Thankfully, her feathers are only mussed from flight; none are missing. In some places, there’s smudges of mud, dust and a particularly unfortunate splatter of blood. The large patch that stands out on her left wing dried to a dreadfully rusty color. So far, even in the heat of battle, it was rare that such a noticeable splatter would reach her wings. Angela flinches at the sight, folding her wings to hide the spot once more.

She turns to review the scans and makes her notes, chiding herself gently. Despite her efforts, she is no stranger to blood or violence, but somehow the sight seems sacrilegious. It’s times like these that she wishes for duller wings, for the dusty-brown and grey of the crag martins, her own hair color notwithstanding. She shakes her wings out, resettling her feathers; she can feel them puffing up with discomfort.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she realizes that her notes are cursory and largely illegible. Her pen trembles in her grasp and her legs buckle the tiniest bit as she takes a quick self-inventory. Angela looks up to Athena, stumbling when the sudden motion dizzies her. She stumbles backward, flaring her wings out for balance and catching herself, but not before her flailing knocks an assortment of medical supplies off the sink counter. Something shatters and Angela just freezes in place, half-crouched and shaking with the effort of holding her wings out. A quick look around her bare feet confirms that it was a hard plastic jar of q-tips and not glass. She releases the breath she’s been holding and slowly straightens up, pulling her wings in tightly against her back.

“Athena, save this offline. I’ll do it later,” Angela steps outside the office and comes back with the med bay's floor vacuum. While the little robotic vacuum cleans up the mess, Angela takes longer than she’d like to step into a sundress, lock up her office, and decide whether to fly or walk to the small gym near to the dorms.

In the end, she walks.

In a way, Angela regrets every step she takes, grumbling to herself what she knows to be true: she could have gotten there faster if she’d flown. Her only solace is that the kitchen, as well as most of the watch point, is empty, and so she raids her personal pantry, as well as the fridge, for post-shower food.

After tucking it all into a grocery tote, she pauses in the doorway, warring with herself: stomach vs wings. In the end, she grabs one more protein shake from the pantry, then scurries out of the kitchen. When she drops the bag off in Fareeha’s room, the messy comforter and sheets sing their familiar siren’s song. There’s truly nothing she’d rather do more than sleep but she closes the door behind her and trudges onward to the gym.

Here in the gym, or rather, the shower room adjacent to small gym and weight room, Angela makes a beeline for her locker, retrieving her caddy of shower supplies, intimates, and one of the most important things: the wing cap.

Her ‘wing cap’ functions half like a shower cap and half like an old-fashioned garment bag. There’s few other moments in which she feels the size of her wings as prominently as when she wrestles them into the oversized covering. She stretches the elastic edges around the wings and longest feathers until she can pull the drawstring tight, cinching the contraption into place over her shoulder blades. Then Angela slumps against the lockers, letting the cool metal leech heat from her sweaty skin and just breathes deeply for a few moments.

Humming just loud enough for the empty room to echo the sound, Angela steps into the accessible shower stall. The door, aside being marked for accessible use, has an assortment of bird stickers on it as well, though she’s still not sure who put them there. If she were a betting woman, she would guess Mei, but perhaps the abundance of penguin stickers is a red herring.

Once in the stall, she disrobes, untying her dress and slipping off her underwear, working around her covered wings with practiced ease. Now that she’s no longer protected from the slight chill of the watchpoint, a shiver runs up her spine and she winces as her wings react similarly, stiffening and tugging against their restraints. It takes a few seconds to get them under control, but the cap’s material holds fast. Another moment and she’s standing underneath the shower head, fiddling with the knobs until the combination of hot and cold seems appropriate; in the past few weeks, she thinks she’s gotten the hang of the gym's outdated system.

Angela interrupts her humming to sigh softly as chilled cold water flows over her. She stands in the stream until the exhaustion begins to creep back into her bones, then resigns herself to actually showering. Using the wall’s support railings to keep her balance, she scrubs every inch of her body all while struggling to keep her wings pinned when both feet aren’t on the ground. The effort takes energy that she doesn’t quite have, but she manages. Her hair is another thing altogether and she makes sure to keep the shampoo from dripping down her back.

There’s a moment after she turns off the shower when Angela grits her teeth, shuts her eyes and pretends, if only for a moment, that she’s done.

In one smooth motion, she reaches over her shoulder, grasps the drawstring of the wing cap and releases it. With a roll of her shoulders, the cap pops off the third joint of each wing and as she extends them to the side one at a time until her flight feathers slide out of the bottom of the cap. Once they’re free, she tosses the wing cap over the stall door and flicks her wings out.

Paying no mind the to the temperature, Angela reaches up and adjusts the shower head settings. The spray comes out in a fine mist, akin to the early morning fog that rolls off the Mediterranean. She shakes and ruffles each wing in the spray, contorting to reach difficult spots with a soaked washcloth and scrub at blood and grime. Eventually, the puddle of water gathering at her feet begins to run clear and Angela does one last shake and ruffle in the mist before turning off the shower for good.

She flicks and shakes her wings, half-voluntarily, until the gathered water no longer weighs them down. Angela towels off, saving her wings for last and simply blotting off the places she can reach before getting dressed again.

Her wings still drip and she’s still tired, but as Angela cleans up and heads back to the dorms, she begins to hum again. Before heading back to Fareeha’s room, she pops into her own and gathers four towels from her private stash and a water-resistant awning she may or may not have nicked from a storage closet a few weeks ago.

Back in Fareeha’s room, she spreads these over the bed and considers it for half a second then does what she needs to do; she flaps her wings. Fareeha has paperweights on everything in her room, so it’s no trouble that she stirs up all of the air in the room, only pausing to open the windows and let in the summer heat to help the process along.

“Dr. Ziegler, I cannot allow the air conditioner to continue to run in Chief Amari’s room while the windows are open,” Athena chides, interrupting Angela’s routine. Embarrassed, she pulls her wings in and addresses the control panel’s speaker near the door.

“Please turn it off then, Athena.” The air-conditioner’s rumbling vent noises come to a halt. She takes a moment to look out over the ocean, smiling softly as gulls cry outside. Determined once more, she tries to open her wings.

The slight interruption provided the moment for her exhaustion to strike back with a vengeance. Angela shrieks, nearly doubling over in pain as her muscles protest every action since she disembarked from the jet. Unable to move, Angela focuses on breathing, rather than continuing to scream in agony. Slowly, she pulls her wings back into their resting position and keeps them there. A hand over her shoulder confirms that some of the smaller feathers are dry, but the larger ones are not. She doesn’t need to feel them to know that her primaries are still half-soaked. As she stands up once more, Angela shuffles to the tote of food and pulls out her protein shakes- three in total. She downs one, then half of another, before crawling onto the beds and flopping face-down into her pillows.

Very slowly, she allows her wings to relax and spread out over the towels and awning, careful to control their span so Fareeha’s comforter won’t get wet. She turns her head slightly to finish the second shake, then pushes the empty bottle in the direction of the side table.

Bit by bit, Angela nudges the third bottle toward her face. Before she sleeps, she needs this much nourishment at least. All she has to do is twist the top off, prop her head up a bit, and drink. _Reach for the top_ , she thinks, making no move to do so. The warm air hangs heavy over the bed. Her limbs are boneless. Her skin is soft. Her wings lay motionless.

And right there, just behind her eyelids, a dream beckons.

*      *     *

 _The cloud shakes and Angela looks around in surprise. The cloud- a cumulus cloud, her brain helpfully supplies- supports her weight. Did she fall? The weight of her wings is next to nothing on her back and she sits up, wondering._ _Her wings are gone. No, not gone. Below her. The cloud is now a wing, her left wing to be exact, though Angela cannot say how she knows this. It flicks and fluffs underneath her as she gets to her feet. All it once, it jerks and lifts up and away, flinging Angela far-_

Angela shudders awake, jerking into consciousness as her fiancée gently lifts her left wing and wriggles her way toward Angela's body. Fareeha murmurs soothingly, stroking her pale cheek as she slowly comes to terms with the line between reality and dreamscape.

Fareeha inhales deeply and murmurs, “Amazing. Your wings smell just like my second favorite place in the world.”

“Fareeha _?_ ” Angela pulls her wing from around her, then gives her a peck on the cheek. “You’re very late. And what's that...they smell?”

“Like a library, old books and everything. You didn't put anything on them, did you?”

“They're just damp,” Angela says, reaching out to caress her lover's face. Fareeha smiles, her eyes glinting in the soft lamplight. The windows are dark and the breeze coming through them is cool. “It’s so late.”

“Had a few hiccups during the cleanup but we’re all back in one piece. Group’s arrested and there weren’t any casualties, so all in all...” As she trails off, Fareeha plants a soft kiss on Angela's forehead. “Sorry, I can tell you later. Anyways, you didn't ask me what my first favorite place is.”

“It's here in bed with me. I should know; it's my favorite too.” Angela pulls Fareeha as close as humanly possible and hums into the fabric of her t-shirt. “And you smell like...sage… roses...and sandalwood…”

“I just took a shower. It’s a good thing you came back to base early, eh? Not to be rude, but you sound wrecked.” Fareeha chuckles low in her throat, making a rumbling vibration; Angela sleepily burrows toward the sound. A small whine escapes her throat before Angela can quell it. Fareeha strokes her hair in response, a soft song on her lips.

“Sleep with me?" she pauses, thinking about her endless maintenance list. "And maybe help me brush them when we wake up?”

“Of course, _ya amar;_ it’s my pleasure.” Fareeha wiggles her arm between them and grunts in surprise. Angela opens one eye in concern. In the dim light, Fareeha reveals the abandoned protein shake. “Were you cuddling a..  Is this a protein shake?”

“I needed to eat _something,_ ” Angela mumbles, feeling her cheeks grow heated. She folds her wings and rolls to her side, taking the bottle and tossing it toward the edge of the bed. “Sleep now, more food later.”

As she rolls back toward Fareeha, she realizes that her wings, though still sore, don't protest when she wraps one around Fareeha and keeps the other splayed out behind her.

Fareeha wraps her arm around her once more and Angela snuggles close, breathing in the smell of her girlfriend and her own wings. She's never really cared to notice before, but the damp feathers do smell a bit like old books and drying ink. It's fitting somehow.

Warm and comfortable, Angela falls back asleep with a smile dancing on her lips and featherlight fairy tales in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, we end as we begun, all those months ago. <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who submitted prompts and encouraged me and didn't yell at me when I took unplanned hiatuses/didn't update on time. Best part about DD being over is that I can have a plot (that i don't have to sneak into largely unconnected drabbles) again!  
> And hoo boy, how I've been plotting...  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> The next two installments, although this whole series is, and has always been, a huge self-indulgence, will take quite a different turn. If you ever find yourself unhappy with the way I take it from here on out, you have my permission to accept SFV and ATDD (or even just SFV) as their own standalone story.  
> There will likely be one or two omake-type stories that will be set after ATDD but those will not be around for awhile. If you’re curious and willing to go with one or both of the sequels, follow me and strap in. It’s gonna be a wild one.  
> See you on the flip side!


End file.
